


Evenfall Hall

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:32:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: All her life, Lady Brienne's primary duty has been to her home and to her father. She is determined to do right by them, whatever the cost.





	1. Chapter 1-Evenfall Hall

_**~In which a ball is announced, and Lady Brienne could not care any less if Lord Lannisport is in attendance.~** _

The news, which was as unwelcome as it was unexpected, came over breakfast. Meals were the only chance Brienne had to speak to her father, as the rest of the day was filled with matters concerning the estate. Selwyn sequestered himself in his office, dealing with the accounts while Brienne visited the tenants and keeping warm. The Physician had long since informed the formerly energetic lord to rest and avoid chills. It was Brienne the tenants went to when their roofs were leaking or their homes were otherwise in need of repair.

She also saw to it that those who were too old or infirm to work for the family, but had been gifted small cottages on the estate, were looked after. Brienne would bring them food and fire wood and see to it that their cottages were clean and warm. Whenever one of the tenants took ill, she would summon the local physician (her family unflinchingly footing the bill) and if they had no other, would stay with them as they recovered.

It was a role she did well and with pride, having learnt from childhood at the knee of her father and his previous steward, Mr Goodwin. Even now Brienne would be sure to visit the retired steward, and bring him news as well as requests for advice. From these two men did Brienne acquire an intense sense of duty and love towards her land and its tenants.

Evenfall Hall was a beautiful castle, overlooking the sea on one side and lush meadows and forests on the other. The castle dated back hundreds of years and retained its medieval appearance, although the interior was modern and comfortable. Purple mountains graced the skyline, and the white snow dusting their peaks would turn pink in the evening sun. Brienne knew these forests and meadows like the back of her freckled hand.

Although a somewhat shy, awkward lady, Brienne managed to be friendly, businesslike and respectful as the situation required. Whether it be to the farmers or the elderly widow who lived on the edge of the estate. Above all, she was industrious and well liked by the community.

“If only she weren't so plain,” they all sighed. For it was true. Competent, dedicated and hard working she may be, but the undeniable truth was that Lady Brienne Tarth of Evenfall Hall was exceedingly plain. She had broad shoulders with a height to match, coarse features and limp straw-like hair. She was far better suited to riding about the countryside in breeches than gracing a ballroom.

Her pale locks was robbed of the strength the rest of her body boasted, and was too weak to sustain the curls that was all the mode. The girlish pastels and muslins looked ludicrous on her masculine figure. In the crush of the crowd, her skin swiftly turned red and mottled and embarrassment had Brienne scowling in the corner. It had not been unheard of for guests to believe that Lord Tarth had jokingly invited a farmhand into his house and dressed him as a lady. In truth, they could not be blamed for doing so.

Therefore her dismay at the words “a ball” was entirely understandable. Furthermore, it was a ball for the new Lady of Storm's End, whose presence Brienne wished to avoid for numerous reasons. Brienne had not attended the wedding, it being held from her father's estate in the Westerlands. She had met the bride at several other functions. Garden Parties, picnic and dinners, all to welcome the Duchess to the Stormlands. None of it seemed to impress her. The painstaking attempts of the local nobility to please her had earned nothing more than a sneering mouth and a disdainful eye. Brienne did not see why her father's efforts would prove anymore successful. She had rather hoped he wouldn't try. But no, the Marquess of Tarth was too much a gentleman not to hold a ball to welcome a bride, even if the hectic social whirl was doing him no favours.

To further Brienne's misery, Lady Stormlands was not the only unwanted guest.

“Ronnet Connington will be attending also,” Selwyn told his daughter gently.

Brienne swallowed down the lump of burnt toast that caught in her throat. She forced a pleasant smile on her face. “How nice,” she remarked simply.

Very few things could cause Brienne to lie. Her father's peace of mind was one of them. Especially now with his health showing no sign of improvement. Unfortunately, as is usually the case, lack of practise in the art left Brienne particularly inept. Her father met her smile with a doubtful raise of the eyebrow and a sad nod. No doubt he remembered his heir's first and last visit as well as she did.

Mr Ronnet Connington esquire, through the virtue of entail, was to inherit Evenfall Hall and all its adjacent lands on the event of Lord Tarth's passing. Close to Brienne in age, it had seemed natural for the two families to have an understanding. Unfortunately, Brienne was destined to grow ugly in appearance and Ronnet ugly in everything else. By the point their two persons had formed, a sense of duty towards each other had been so firmly instilled that their engagement was as sure a fact as the sun rising. Even their disastrous first meeting could not change that.

Brienne placed all the blame on herself. She had known the visit was coming but instead of making herself presentable, had ridden out to see to a flood in one of the lower fields. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. Her nerves were all a jitter at the intended meeting, and the matter was urgent. One look at her intended's face as she trotted into the courtyard, splattered in mud and hair astray, put that thought to rest. The disgust in his eyes could only have been surpassed had she galloped in hurling handfuls of manure at him.

As distressing as Ronnet's repulsion was, it had been her father's face that caused Brienne's heart to break. It was as though a veil had been lifted. For the first time he truly saw his daughter for what she was. Plain, awkward and completely lacking in charm or grace. A failure of womanhood. From that day on, Lord Tarth's pride in his daughter would forever be dimmed. Lurking behind the joy and love in his eyes was unceasing disappointment. A silent wish that his daughter could just be different.

Brienne had endeavoured to minimise her father's dismay, and her own guilt, starting that very night. She had spent an hour at her vanity, her maid fiddling and tugging at her hair, in the vain hope of pleasing her betrothed. That night, she heard him call her a 'sow in silk'. He whispered it, but both father and daughter had heard. Brienne had looked to her father, both dreading and longing for his defence of her. None came.

Looking at her father's eyes now, over breakfast, Brienne could see that same look on his face. The dismay more apparent than usual.

“It would please me greatly,” Selwyn told her, “If you were to promise young Connington with the first two dances,”

“Of course father,” Brienne said obligingly. Although she would had preferred to avoid dancing before any company, she knew she owed those dances to Mr Connington. She had long since accepted that it would cause a miracle of nature to put a stop to their courtship.

“Have you invited Lord Lannisport?” she blurted out before blushing.

Selwyn looked at her, “I have sent him an invite,” he confirmed, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason,” Brienne said airily, “I had just heard he would be visiting his cousin, that's all,”

She didn't care, not really.

 


	2. Chapter 2-Evenfall Hall

_**~In which Lady Brienne forces herself to endure Lord Lannisport's company in the name of duty (and absolutely nothing else)~** _

Some say that laughter is medicine. Well, Lady Brienne Tarth never laughed. To her, work was medicine. And so it was her work she found solace in the morning after the ball was announced. She had recently arranged for a pig farmer to receive money to fix a break in his fence, and in her satchel she carried some baby clothes intended for a groom's new baby.

These errands done and the wind biting her cheeks, Brienne felt revitalized. As loathsome as she found Mr Connington, and he found her, she would never give up her home. It wasn't as though a woman such herself could marry for love anyway.

Deciding a good gallop was precisely what she needed, she steered her mount down a particularly beautiful forest path that led her to the very edge of her father's estate. These lands were bordering on that of a local Baronet, Sir Barristan Selmy. As such, it was not a rare sight for Brienne to catch sight of a tenant farmer going about his work.

This man, however, was not a tenant. Even from a distance, Brienne could tell from his coat and mount that he was a gentleman. And, considering from the darting of his head, a very lost gentleman in need of help. Brienne urged her horse forward, ready to call out and offer him help. Then she saw his face. Not a gentleman then.

Jaime Lannister, Marquess of Casterly and son and only child of the Duke of Westerlands, had not yet caught sight of Brienne. Instead he was peering in the opposite direction. His hand rested above his handsome face to keep the sun from his eyes as he searched for assistance. Brienne was tempted to turn her horse around before he saw her and she was obliged to make contact. Instead, she gritted her teeth and trotted up to him. She knew not why, as she had no intention of spending any more time in his company than necessary.

“Lord Lannisport!” she cried, “Are you lost?”

The man in question turned to face his saviour, though his face showed no gratitude. Instead it held the same look of amused contempt he always wore in Brienne's presence. It had been nearly a year, but Brienne remembered that look very well. Somehow it was even more infuriating than than memory.

“Lady Brienne,” he drawled when she grew closer, “How pleased I am to see you,”

Brienne scowled. He never acted pleased to see her, though that hadn't stopped him from seeking her out whenever they were in the same company during his last visit. It was probably amusing for him to torment her.

“Do you need directions back to Haystack Hall?” she offered.

Lord Lannisport smiled. “Storm's End, preferably. I had only stopped by Haystack Hall to call on Sir Barristan,” he cast a look at the vast landscape before them, “In truth, I suspect even with directions I shall not find my way back. But if you were to act as my guide...” he trailed off raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“I will be willing to ride with you to Haystack Hall,” Brienne said shortly, “I suppose you shall be able to receive further guidance there,”

“Ah, but surely it will be quicker to go straight to Storm's End?” Lord Lannisport pointed out. He smiled at her, well aware she had other things to do. He had teased her enough about her work, mockingly calling her 'the Steward'. Still, he also knew that she would not turn down a direct request to see him safely home.

She sighed and nodded in agreement, fighting down the twitching of her lips.

Brienne nodded courteously. Her heart fluttered as she thought of the distance to Storm's End, and the time she would have to endure Lord Lannisport's company. Still, at least the ride was pleasant. She spurred her horse on in the right direction, Lord Lannisport hot on her heels.

“I am staying with my Cousin and her new husband,” he announced unnecessarily, as though Brienne was not already aware of who resided in Storm's End.

“Yes, I know,” Brienne said.

“Really?” Lord Lannisport shot her a smirk, “And do you often listen out for news of me?”

“I... no,” Brienne stuttered, thankful her cheeks were already red from exertion. True, her ears may have picked up bits and pieces of him ever since his stay at Haystack Hall. Being neighbours, Brienne had seen a fair bit of him during those months and so she had formed an acquaintance, even if it were an unwilling one. Naturally, she would find news related to him particularly relevant.

Regaining her composure, Brienne struggled to find a safe topic of interest.

“And how are you finding your stay at Storm's End?” she asked, wincing as she did. Foolish question! Everyone knew Lord Westerlands' reason for sending his son and heir away from home last year, and away from his pretty and penniless cousin. Lady Cersei, as she had been then, was Lord Westerlands' niece and ward, and it had been he who provided the dowry for her match to the wealthy Duke of Stormlands. He had always planned to do so, and had been willing to use his beautiful niece to forge a connection with another Great House. For her to marry into his house, however, would have brought him no gain.

Brienne's eyes flickered uneasily towards Lord Lannisport as she waited for an answer.

“I am enjoying my stay little,” he said bluntly, “You are acquainted with my brother in law?”

Brienne grimaced. “I am,”

“Then you know why,”

“And Lady Stormlands,” Brienne continued gently, “How is she finding marriage?”

To say that she appeared discontent was to put it lightly, and Brienne could not help but hope she was happier than she seemed. She knew that some people always had a demeanour that suggested frustration and contemptuous, regardless of how they truly felt. Unable to bear the thought of anyone being unhappy in marriage, Brienne hoped that this was the case for Lady Stormlands.

Lord Lannisport merely shrugged. “She has made her choice and she will live with it,” he said brusquely.

The choice to wed Lord Stormlands with her uncle's approval and support, than to risk his ire by eloping with hie heir. No wonder Lord Lannisport's grip on his reins were so taut. Silence reigned momentarily, before Brienne made another valiant effort at conversation.

“We have fine weather today,” she ventured, causing Lord Lannisport to snort incredulously.

“And so we have resorted to weather?” he declared in mock sorrow, “I remember our previous conversations to be far more lively,”

“That is because you spent the majority of the time mocking me,” Brienne snapped.

“Yes, conversations do tend to be far more engaging when I do the the talking,” Lord Lannisport agreed, “So perhaps I should steer the conversation henceforth, considering you have proven your small talk to be as boring as you are ugly,”

“You may do as you please,” Brienne said tightly.

“Then it pleases me to stand up with you for the first two dances at your father's ball,” Lord Lannisport said promptly, “Lest you spend the entire evening glowering in the corner as usual,”

“How did you know about the ball?” Brienne demanded.

“Invitation came this morning,” he said dismissively, “Now, will you promise me the first two dances?”

“I cannot,” Brienne said.

“You will be sitting out for the evening then?” Lord Lannisport asked.

“No,” Brienne admitted grudgingly, “I am already engaged, for those dances,” she hastily added.

“Oh?” Lord Lannisport snorted, “To whom?”

“Mr Ronnet Connington,” Brienne ground out through gritted teeth, “My father's heir,”

All traces of mockery faded away from Lord Lannisport's face, and were replaced with something sincere and almost tender.

“Ah,” he said softly, “I understand,”

Brienne nodded. “I am sure you do,”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

 


	3. Chapter 3-Evenfall Hall

_**~In which Lord Lannisport steals Lady Brienne for a dance.~** _

Jaime grinned as he caught sight of the Lady Brienne standing beside her father, cordially greeting the guests with a fixed smile. She was nothing if not dutiful. They were stood in line, waiting to greet Lord Tarth and his daughter as they entered the ballroom. Cersei and Robert proceeded him, while he stood behind with his merry Aunt Genna on his arm.

He had to peer round Cersei's hair to catch a glimpse of Brienne. To see his cousin in Lannister colours, despite her union with a Baratheon, still brought a pang to his heart. Still, the ache was significantly less than what it had been when the match was first announced. Now a married woman and a Duchess, Cersei had cast aside the pretty muslins of her youth and wore a stiff gown of red satin, and adorned her hair with peacock feathers and rubies. Around her neck was a gold choker, also inlaid with rubies. Still, her sneer had not changed. The look of contempt she showed whenever she saw someone inferior (in this case Brienne) remained unaltered.

Although to Jaime, it's ugliness had grown more apparent. It could not even be outmatched by the homely face of Lady Brienne, who caught sight of Cersei's disdainful stare and dropped her gaze. Jaime found himself trying to suppress a swelling of anger at the sight, struggling to maintain a neutral face.

Jaime watched as Cersei gave Lord Tarth a dignified nod, and Robert pulled him into a hearty hug with one beefy arm and slapping the gentleman on the back with the other. Lord Tarth smiled at the friendly gesture, but the slap brought about a coughing fit that he tried to discretely hide in his handkerchief. Jaime frowned briefly in concern. He had met Lord Tarth during his last visit, and the man had been the image of good health. Brienne looked worried also, but unsurprised. How long had her father's health been declining? When he shook the man's hand, Lord Tarth's grip was feeble and his skin felt like paper.

Moving onto Brienne, he bowed courteously and pecked a kiss on her gloved hand. He shot her a wink and a smirk, causing her already pink skin to blush. In contrast to his sister, Lady Brienne had dressed as simply as the occasion permitted, well aware that any added fripperies would only make her a figure of fun. Beside her stood a red headed man whose disdainful face turned simpering and obsequious before Jaime.

“Lord Lannisport,” Brienne said politely, “This is my father's cousin, Mr Connington,”

Connington shook Jaime's hand vigorously, “Lord Lannisport, I have had the pleasure of meeting your father,”

“Oh?” Jaime asked, snatching his hand back, “That is a pleasure now, is it?”

Connington's smile faded slightly, before he le out a forced chuckle. “He certainly is very formidable, I cannot deny. But an extremely intelligent man, he holds the king's ear on many matters, I believe, and-”

Grimacing in disgust, Jaime turned his back and walked away from the odious man. Poor Brienne! To find herself tied to such a gentleman, if such a term could truly be used. Jaime surveyed him discretely from the opposite end on the room, noting how the smile on Connington's face disappeared completely and was replaced with a sneer every time he looked at his betrothed. Brienne bore his rudeness valiantly, and allowed him to reluctantly take her arm when the first set was announced.

Leaving his Aunt Genna to gossip happily, Jaime strode across the vast ballroom, through the crowds and towards the couple. People promptly stepped aside as he did without a second thought. And so he managed to reach them swiftly, before they descended to the dance floor.

“Lady Brienne,” he bowed, “I fear you are remiss in your promises to me. If I remember correctly I have already asked for the first two dances,”

“Yes, but-” Brienne protested, only for Connington to cut her off.

“I have no complaints,” he announced, “Here, take her,”

He disposed of his intended to be intended's arm as though it were a used handkerchief, and strolled of to the gaming tables. Although Brienne watched him go with undisguised relief, she turned to face Jaime with a glare.

“My Lord, I had already informed you I shall be dancing with my cousin,” she pointed out, endeavouring to be polite.

Jaime simply smiled. “You did,” he agreed, “Which I accepted. Then I met the man,” he took her arm and gallantly led her to their place on the floor, “Shall we?”

The dance began, and Jaime was impressed to see the grace with which Brienne moved. Still fuming from Lord Lannisport's presumption, she could not consider feeling anything other than irritation, let alone self-consciousness. And so she executed the well-rehearsed steps flawlessly, moving with an elegance and grace that matched her partner's. They moved well in time together, Jaime noted, despite her greater height. To avoid drawing Brienne's notice to the dance, and risk breaking the spell, Jaime waited until the end of the set comment upon her performance.

“You move well,” he informed her under the din, shrugging, “For a beast of a woman,”

Brienne scowled as he led away in search of a drink, but remained silent.

“Well,” Jaime prompted, “Aren't you going to say something?”

“You told me my small talk is as boring as I am ugly,” Brienne, “What would you have me say?”

“Well, thank you, perhaps,” Jaime suggested.

Brienne raised an eyebrow. “For the compliment?” I could well live without that, I assure you,”

“No,” Jaime corrected her, “For dancing with you,”

“I could well have lived without that also,” Brienne snapped.

“For rescuing you from Ronnet Connington,” Jaime insisted, “I thought you may have been grateful to escape having to dance with such a reprehensible man,”

“Only I ended up dancing with another, equally reprehensible man,” Brienne said, causing Jaime to laugh.

“You wound me, my lady,” Jaime shook his head, “Come now, admit it. You know you are relieved I spared you from Mr Connington,” he squeezed her hand, ”For these dances at least,”

Brienne abruptly turned her head away, “I know no such thing,”

All amusement gone, Jamie relinquished her hand and patted her elbow, “Then rejoice my lady,” he instructed her, “For the dance is over and I do believe I can see Mr Connington to reclaim you,” Brienne followed his gaze and rested her eyes upon the gentleman, who was walking purposefully towards her as one walks towards a particularly unpleasant task they have decided to get over with.

Jaime bowed. “I shall leave you to his delightful company,”

 


	4. Chapter 4-Storm's End

_**~In which Lord Lannisport enjoys a quiet evening with family, and Lord Stormlands muses his luck on having found such a bride.~** _

The Drawing Room at Storm's End was one of it's finest rooms. The walls were a gentle honey gold that went well with the polished gold and dark brown furniture that tastefully graced it. The room turned warm and welcoming in the glow of the evening fire, despite its elegance and grandeur. In the right company, the atmosphere could be one of complete ease and comfort.

This wasn't the right company.

First to enter the room was the Duchess of the Stormlands. She glided into the pleasant chamber with all her customary grace, seemingly unconcerned that the temperature dropped significantly as she did so. All remnants of well-born manners gone, Cersei tugged of her silk gloves and tossed them aside. She sat upon the chaise lounge and tried not to rub her cheeks, which were sore from pretending to smile all evening. Her husband was next to enter. Cersei grimaced as the Duke stumbled into the Drawing Room after her, dragging the odour of wine along with him.

Tired and rather heady from the drink, Robert collapsed on a couch the opposite side of the room, turning his head into the cushions with a groan. Cersei cast a disgusted look at her inebriated husband as Aunt Genna sat beside her. Grudgingly making room for her large aunt, Cersei eyed Jaime casually strolling across the room and pouring himself some port. Despite her efforts at her vanity, he had not spoken to her once that evening.

Genna settled happily into her seat. Although of similar colouring in both dress and hair, she provided a stark contrast to her scowling niece. She was dressed in cheerful poppy red lace gown that clung to her still heaving bosom. She had a wide smile and a relaxed air, and was pleasingly pink from exertion.

“What a pleasant evening,” she fanned herself, beaming round the room “It was so good of you to dance with your fat old aunt Jaime,”

Jaime smiled at her fondly, “It was a pleasure,” he assured her.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, I am surprised you found any pleasure, considering how little you danced,”

Jaime shrugged, “Who else would I have danced with?” he asked cuttingly.

Cersei scowled, recognising the cut, but quickly smoother her face into a poisonous smile. “I agree, dear cousin, the society here is rather savage,”

Robert rolled his eyes into the cushions. Once, he would have scolded his wife for insulting his friends and neighbours. But now he knew he would have wasted less breathe screaming at an rock. He was used her to complaints about their acquaintances, as well as everything else that came to her attention. He had always known her to be a proud and critical, but since their marriage Robert came to realise she was a vile, petty woman who lived to cast spite on those around her. He could have been camping out in the middle of winter and his bed could not have been colder than with her presence in it.

The Duke longed to go back and scream at himself to not be tempted by the beauty with the large dowry, and leave the Lady Cersei to elope with her cousin as she was allegedly planning to do. Still, he had a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Lord Lannisport would prove too much of a temptation to his Duchess and he would steal her away. Robert certainly hoped he might when he accepted Lord Lannisport's request to stay.

Aunt Genna tutted at her niece's behaviour. “Oh, I quite disagree, I thought the company exceedingly pleasant,” she appealed to her nephew for support, “Come Jaime, you agree, don't you?”

“I liked the company well enough,” Jaime said.

“Well enough!” Aunt Genna repeated, “What of Lady Brienne? Surely you do not mean to tell me you like her 'well enough'? Why, you watched her the whole evening,”

Cersei scoffed and waited for Jaime's correction of their aunt's observation.

It never came. Instead he shrugged, his mouth tugging up into a small smile. “If nothing else, Lady Brienne is perfectly singular,”

“Oh, I quite agree,” Aunt Genna nodded her head vigorously, “I spoke little to her but she seems a dear girl. Perhaps a bit unpolished-”

“Unpolished!” Cersei cried, “She has the grace of a cow, and the looks of one,” she added darkly.

Jaime's fingers clenched round the stem of his glass, and seemed liable to break it. Or else throw it at his cousin's head. Genna spoke up quickly.

“I suppose she never had a Season, buried away here and with no female relations. Apparently she hasn't even been presented at court,”

“Thankfully!” Cersei cried, “She would be a disgrace to the court. A creature such as herself would look a fool in court dress,”

“All young ladies look a fool in court dress,” Jaime pointed out, “Even you did,”

Cersei flushed. “At least I deported myself like a lady. Lady Brienne seems quite incapable of doing so. It is clear she lacks all accomplishments that is required of a young lady,”

“Oh, but I find that rather endearing. She has no false airs, no snobbery,” Genna protested.

Robert rolled over to face the room and smiled at the lady. “You'll find none of that here,” he assured her, “People in the Stormlands like to be at ease. We don't stand on ceremony,”

“I've noticed,” Cersei interjected with a sickly sweet voice. She turned to address Aunt Genna, “Her lack of female relatives does not excuse her. She has a Godmother, does she not? Robert?”

“Lady Winterfell,” Robert nodded, having turned back into his cushions.

“But she lives up North,” Aunt Genna pointed out, “And has five children of her own,”

“One must wonder why her father made her Godmother then,” Cersei remarked.

Robert sat up and glared fiercely at his wife. “The Starks are fine people!” he snapped, “You hold your tongue about them,” He glowered at the room full of Lannisters. The enmity between the two houses was well known, and Robert had received enough grief from Ned when the engagement was announced.

Robert wished he had listened to his old friend and comrade now.

Cersei rolled her eyes at Robert's defence of the Starks. She was sick to death of Robert's love affair with Lord Winterfell, and found the entire family tiresome. Still, she mused, Lady Winterfell did have the ear of Lord Tarth. Perhaps it would do no harm to befriend her on their upcoming visit. She may have things to say of Jaime that Lady Winterfell would find interesting. Of course, it was probably not necessary, but Cersei had seen the look on Jaime's face when Aunt Genna mentioned Lady Brienne, and knew there was no harm in being cautious.

Smiling through the tension, and appearing somewhat amused by it, Genna continued. “Lord Tarth served alongside Lady Winterfell's father and uncle during the war, I believe,” she said placidly, “I suppose that is where the acquaintance formed. I do think I want to call upon the young lady tomorrow, I should like to see more of Evenfall. Cersei, will you join me?”

“I shall not,” Cersei declared.

“Jaime dear, would you accompany your poor aunt?”

“Of course I shall, aunt,” Jaime assured her, “ _I_ have no complaints on visiting the lady,”

Robert watched the smile form on Jaime's face at the thought of the visit and sighed in disappointment. It seemed Robert would just have to accept Cersei wouldn't be running off with her cousin any time soon.

 


	5. Chapter 5-Evenfall Hall

_**~In which breakfast and tea are taken with very little incident.~** _

Father was in bed, resting, and so Brienne had been left alone with Mr Connington and his jibes over breakfast. Knowing that there was no way of detaching Mr Connington from Lord Lannisport's side, Brienne purposefully kept the Lannisters' upcoming visit a secret. Entertaining was enough of a struggle without Mr Connington smarming and sneering. Besides, she wanted to make the most of avoiding his presence for as long as possible. Each day brought his visit closer to an end, and Brienne knew what was coming. The shackles of matrimony grew tighter and tighter with every passing moment.

Brienne's only hope was that Mr Connington would always be as willing to quit her company as he was at present.

As it was, Mr Connington was gulping down his tea with as much gust as the bare minimum of good manners would allow in the hopes of making his escape. For the most part, the two sat in frosty silence. It was only as he got up to leave did he address her.

“Will you be riding today?” he inquired, barely looking at her as he checked his fob-watch.

“I shall not,” Brienne replied, “I have other matters to attend to,”

Connington raised an eyebrow, “I hope they are suitable matters,”

Brienne frowned in confusion, “Would you please elaborate,”

Here, Mr Connington finally condescended to meet her in the eye.

“I mean matters suitable to your position and sex. Household matters and such,” he waved a contemptuous hand.

“I do tend to the household matters,” Brienne said truthfully.

“And matters concerning the estate?” Connington demanded, “What of those?”

“I attend to them also,” Brienne said with a bite to her voice.

“When we wed you will cease with meddling with such matters,” Connington told her firmly, “I will not have my wife behave in such a unbecoming manner. No man wants a steward for a wife,”

“It is because I behave in such a condescending manner that Evenfall is profitable,” Brienne pointed out, “I have run it since I was a young girl and you will find no other steward more capable,”

“I may find one who does not throw away money and resources coddling the peasantry,” Connington snapped, “How many cottages have been wasted on feckless layabouts?”

Brienne's face turned red and her knuckles turned white. “The people on this estate are industrious and loyal. They work hard and take care of the land with the knowledge that they will in turn be taken care of. My family is in a partnership with the people of this land. So they always have been and so they always will be,”

“Not when I am master,” Connington spat, “And I am telling you now, your father may have foolishly indulged in your nonsense but I shall not! You shall conduct yourself in a manner befitting my wife, with propriety, grace and preferably, silence,”

“And I am telling you,” Brienne stood up, “That if you do anything to hurt this estate or the workers on it, I shall throw propriety and grace aside and scream like a fishwife,”

Connington turned a red to match his hair. “You are clearly out of your senses, my lady,” he bowed stiffly, “I shall leave you to compose yourself, I will return this evening,”

Brienne watched him go with a mix of relief and dread. To still her nerves, she set about preparing for tea. There was only going to be herself and the two Lannisters, but she was anxious they had no cause for complaints. She inspected the best Drawing Room for dust and frantically plumped the cushions herself. She saw to it that the tea was filled with exquisite delicacies that would be sure to tempt her guests. Brienne changed her dress five times, tearing them on and off and growing more agitated with each one.

After dealing with Connington's scorn all morning, the thought of the Lannisters critiquing her and deriding her behind her back was not to be borne.

Fortunately, such fears proved fruitless. When they did arrive, Brienne was engulfed in a cloud of perfume and lace. Lady Genna had descended upon her within moments of arrival, embracing her and pressing ecstatic kisses upon her cheeks. These exchanges done, Lady Genna hooked one arm through Brienne's as though they were a pair of school girls, and proudly strolled into the Drawing Room.

“My dear Lady Brienne, how very well you look,” Lady Genna declared, turning pointedly towards Jaime, “Don't you think so, nephew?”

“Oh yes,” Lord Lannisport drawled, “Very well, very healthy,”

That at least could always be said for Brienne's looks. Healthy.

“Is Lady Stormlands not joining us?” Brienne asked.

“Alas, my niece is quite busy I am afraid to say,” Lady Genna said.

“Is she?” Lord Lannisport asked in mock surprise, “Is there still a housemaid she has not terrorized yet? Or does she intend to move onto the kitchen staff?”

Brienne suppressed a laugh, though clearly not well for Lord Lannisport shot her a sly wink. She sympathised with the female servants of Storm's End, with a lecher like Lord Stormlands for a master and a viper like Lady Stormlands for a mistress. Brienne could not help her relief that the latter could not come. The mere thought of Lady Stormlands' poisonous green eyes had her shaking. And she was nervous enough as it was.

Hands trembling slightly as she lifted the pot, Brienne poured the tea. Lady Genna sank into the cushions of the comfiest chair and peered round the room in approval, while Lord Lannisport leaned with practised poise against the fire place. Brienne swallowed and tried to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Despite her position as of Lady of the House, she was unused to playing hostess.

“Connington not joining us?” Lord Lannisport asked casually, not missing the tightening of Brienne's shoulders and how she avoided his gaze.

“No,” she said simply.

Lord Lannisport frowned at Lady Brienne's sudden discomfort. “You do not wish to talk of the man, my lady. Do I need to challenge him to a duel?”

“You do not,” Brienne snapped, ignoring the sudden fluttering in her chest“I am sorry neither Mr Connington nor my father are able to join us,” she said in a more controlled manner, “I am afraid you must make do with me,”

Lord Lannisport moved closer and leaned down beside her. “How is your father?” he murmured gently. Brienne could his breath on her cheek and tried not to blush.

“Tired,” she said, tilting her head away, “From the ball last night,”

“And what an absolutely splendid ball it was,” Lady Genna chimed in, “I can't remember when I last had such a pleasant evening,”

“I am pleased you enjoyed it, my lady,”Brienne said courteously.

She watched the older woman with some envy, Like Brienne, her figure may have prevented her from being considered a beauty by those who knew about such things (although she did have an undeniable charm). She moved with a confidence and ease that might have been thought vulgar in a younger lady. Her smiles were easy, her laughs even more so. She had independent wealth and although she may have been pitied for never finding a husband, she certainly seemed to suffer little for it. If the rumours were true, she was not even lacking for male company.

Lady Genna chattered brightly, leaving only pauses for Brienne to nod and smile. Thankfully, she seemed perfectly willing to take charge of conversation. Otherwise the afternoon would have been spent in stilted silence. Brienne could not make small talk and Lord Lannisport would not. Instead he returned to his place by the mantle piece, ignoring the tea set out while his aunt indulged herself. Not that Brienne had any complaints, she was glad to see her efforts appreciated. Still, despite his silence he was very attentive to the conversation, to Brienne in particular. He seemed fixated on her watching her with such vigilance that Brienne began to wonder if she had something on her face.

Finally, she grew sick of it.

“Are you trying to intimidate me Sir?” she snapped at last.

Lord Lannisport chuckled. “Are you easily intimidated, my lady?”

“I can assure you I am not. I am however curious as to why you find it so necessary to stare,” Brienne shot back.

Lady Genna sipped her teeth.

Still smiling with an insolent ease, Lord Lannisport sat himself beside her. “Is it possible I am staring simply because I find you particularly comely today?”

“We both know it isn't,” Brienne said without thinking, causing him to laugh even more. Seven Hells she hated that laugh, it stuck in her head all day.

“Really? You do not think it possible I have been sat here utterly enraptured by your fine eyes?”

Now it was Brienne's turn to laugh and scoff. Lady Genna stood up and brushed out her skirts. Lord Lannisport and Lady Brienne followed her example.

“I am afraid I must steal my nephew away from your fine eyes, Lady Brienne,” she leant forward and kissed her cheek, “But there is to be a little soiree tomorrow at Storm's End. Lord and Lady Winterfell will be attending and it would vex me greatly if you did not attend. We so hope to see more of you soon, don't we Jaime?”

Lord Lannisport took Brienne's hand and gave it a kiss. His lips hovered momentarily before he looked up at her, eyes sparkling.

“Indeed we do,” he agreed. He smiled at the prospect, and Brienne found herself smiling back.

 


	6. Chapter 6-Evenfall Hall

_**~In which Lady Brienne is struck by the romance of Mr Connington's proposal.~** _

“How did tea with the Lannisters go?” Selwyn asked his daughter as they sat together in the Sitting Room. The Marquess's strength had returned to him well enough to get up for dinner.

“Well,” Brienne hesitated, “I think. Lady Genna invited us to Storm's End, to greet Lord and Lady Winterfell,” she paused hesitantly, taking in her father's pallor. Her father would not speak of his health, but the black thumb prints beneath his once sparkling eyes and his chalky skin talked loud enough. She did not want to bring up what was a painful subject for her father, but still she had to ask “Will you be well enough to go?”

Lord Tarth nodded. He did not react with the indignation that was his wont when his health first began to decline and Brienne gently insisted on taking over more of his duties. Instead he smiled reassuringly at his concerned daughter. “I'm sure I will, we have to meet with your Godmother. I look forward to seeing her,”

Brienne smiled. She was fond of her no-nonsense Godmother.

Lord Tarth dropped his voice, his eyes flickering to Mr Connington who sat in the corner, staring at his book.

“He has asked to speak to me this evening, alone,” he confided.

“He will ask you for permission?” Brienne asked, her heart dropping to the pits of her stomach.

“That is what I suspect,” Lord Tarth nodded, “Though I heard you had a falling out...”

Brienne grimaced, “We had a disagreement, over the running of the estate,”

Lord Tarth sighed, “My dearest, when I die this estate will belong to Mr Connington to do as he likes. And as his wife you will need to be obedient in all that you do,”

Endeavouring to keep her voice low, Brienne hissed, “There is no reason for me to wed the man if I cannot work for the estate,”

Lord Tarth sighed again. The pure exhaustion in the sound cut Brienne to her core. She could not remember the last time her father had rocked himself back and forwards with the strength of his booming laugh. She squeezed his hand.

“I will try to make myself more pleasing to Mr Connington,” she assured him. He pecked her on the cheek.

“That is all I ask,” he assured her.

Brienne always kept her promises, and did not swear herself to anything easily. Nevertheless, she saw that pleasing Mr Connington might not be entirely possible. She watched as her father stood and nodded for Connington to follow. Silently, they exited the room and left Brienne by the dying fire. She absent mindedly picked at her embroidery, watching the embers of the fire burn low and the light all but faded. They took longer than expected, Brienne knew not why. The match had been made since infancy, what was left to discuss?

Driven by curiosity, Brienne rose and quietly made her way down the corridor. She lurked outside her father's study. From within, she could heard Connington's voice in mid-rant.

“ _Even more ungainly and awkward than ever, her manner is impertinent. She rides about this estate and mixes amongst the common folk with no sense of propriety. For the memory of my parents, and the respect I owe you, I will take her on-”_

Brienne reared back, sickened. Brienne shuddered to think of her father standing there. Forced to listen to that man spew his poison. She could stand it, but her father... still, he made no word of protest. No matter how long she waited. Ronnet Connington continued on and on, his voice growing high and shrill. He talked of her ill manners, her rough looks and her insolent conduct. He expressed pity for the shame she brought her family and offered reassurances that he would mould her into a suitable wife, with vivid descriptions of the steps he would take to do so.

And still, her father would not speak.

Brienne shook her head and turned her back. She had heard enough.

~

Brienne was up all night and agitated throughout the next day. She saw next to nothing of Mr Connington and her father did not mention him nor their conversation. Ears still burning, Brienne lacked the courage to bring the topic up. Indeed, she could barely look at him. Shame, humiliation and even a bit of resentment clung to Brienne like a pungent perfume.

On several occasions throughout luncheon, Lord Tarth cleared his throat and opened his mouth as though to say something important, only to close it again. Brienne found the silence both tortuous and a relief. Tension hung thick and heavy between father and daughter, yet at the same time Brienne was thankful for the extra time to be a free woman.

It was ludicrous, for Brienne always knew the match would take place, yet the thought of it being made official made her skin go cold. And to have the date set would leave Brienne feeling akin to a condemned man scratching down his days on his cell wall.

And so, when she and her father set out in the carriage to the dinner at Storm's End, Brienne made no attempt to break the heavy silence.

That is, apart from a strangled “Is Mr Connington not joining us then?”

To which her father replied “No,”

Brienne could not deny her confusion on the matter. With some dread, she wondered if her father would not speak because he did not want to. The affection between the pair had waned so greatly since Mr Connington's first visit, what would the tirade he subjected her father do to their relationship? He certainly seemed to be struggling to look her in the eye.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Brienne pressed her forehead against the glass and window and pretended to watch the the faint outlines of the coast against the sea. There were no stars nor moon, but Brienne could just make out the black jagged rocks and cliff jutting out into the ocean.

Finally, they reached Storm's End.

 


	7. Chapter 7-Storm's End

_**~In which Lord Tarth lays some truths bare, and Lady Brienne makes a promise.~** _

The Starks were known to be cold, with ice running through their veins. And yet Lady Winterfell's embrace was warm and comforting, protective despite her God-daughter being a goodly size larger than her.

“Brienne my dear,” she said softly as Brienne and Lord Tarth entered the Drawing Room, “How pleased I am to see you. It's been far too long,”

“Lady Brienne-” Lord Lannisport cut in, trying to catch Brienne's eye as she broke away from her Godmother, only for Lady Winterfell to take her arm and guide Brienne into the corner. He had swiftly but subtly moved closer towards the door the moment Brienne's name was announced, and had stood waiting for greetings to be exchanged so that he may talk with her.

“You must tell me how you have been,” Lady Winterfell's voice rose slightly, as though to block out Lord Lannisport's attempts of engaging Brienne in conversation. Brienne shot Lord Lannisport an apologetic look for her abrupt departure. Lord Lannisport looked frustrated, but not surprised nor angry. Lady Winterfell's desire to usher Brienne away from the Lannister could come as a surprise to no one.

Once they reached the corner Lady Winterfell stood facing outward, so that to face her Brienne had to stand with her back to the room. Lady Winterfell fire rapid question after question at Brienne, leaving no room for interruption.

Brienne tried to be polite and attentive, but her focus was constantly drawn away by the glass of the portrait behind Lady Winterfell. In it she could see that her father was chatting amicably with Lord Winterfell and Lord Stormlands, whilst the rest of the party had all congregated into gossipy groups. Lady Genna held court with other matrons, and even Lady Stormlands deigned to converse with one or two acquaintances she deemed not too repulsive. She had been talking quite solemnly with Lady Winterfell, Brienne noted when they first entered, but had since found other guests to wile away the evening with.

Only Lord Lannisport stood alone.

Even in the blurred reflection of the glass, Brienne could see where he stood and in which direction he looked. He was watching her, she could feel his green eyes boring into the back of her head. Why must he stare so. The tell-tale flush crept up Brienne's neck and cheeks and once more she tried to fixate on Lady Winterfell's conversation.

“Lady Winterfell,” a sharp voice said.

Lady Winterfell cut off abruptly and faced the interloper with a cold eye. Brienne followed her Godmother's gaze to see Lord Lannisport. He addressed Lady Winterfell but his eyes were fixed solely on Brienne.

“I believe your husband and Lord Tarth are in want of you,” Lord Lannisport informed Lady Winterfell.

“I am sure they can wait,” Lady Winterfell replied with a sceptical raise of the eyebrow, “I am catching up with Lady Brienne,”

“I assure I can divert Lady Brienne's attention whilst your husband is in need of you,” Lord Lannisport said with only a slight veneer of courtesy, “I will not allow her to be too bereft at your parting,”

Lady Winterfell still looked put out at being dismissed, but saw that Lord Winterfell was beckoning for her, Lord Tarth waiting by her side. She dutifully made her way to her husband left Brienne in Lord Lannisport's dubious care. Brienne watched as Lady Winterfell and her father conversed furtively, Lord Winterfell casting a disdainful glance towards Lord Lannisport and pointedly turning his back.

Lord Lannisport instantly turned to Brienne with a sudden urgency.

“Tell me Brienne,” he began, throwing Brienne back with the sudden use of her first name, “I heard your father has met with Connington. Are you engaged? Officially engaged?”

Brienne cast an uncertain glance towards her father, who stood in serious discussion with her Godmother and Lord Winterfell. In the low candlelight, his face looked more worn and drawn than ever.

“I do not know,” she admitted, “They were in father's study for a while, though I do not think it went very well,”

“But your father gave his permission?”

“No, he did not,”

Brienne darted round and Lord Lannisport looked up to see Lord Tarth watching them, his stern blue eyes staring piercingly into Lord Lannisport. Who, much to his credit, did not flinch but met him gaze for gaze.

“Father?” Brienne questioned.

“Not now, daughter,” Lord Tarth said firmly, taking Brienne's arm, “Good day Lord Lannisport,” he nodded curtly and began to deliberately steer Brienne away. Brienne managed a swift curtsey before being towed along by her father. As they moved away, Brienne caught sight of Lord and Lady Winterfell nodding in satisfaction.

_**#** _

On the journey back home, Lord Tarth finally opened up to his daughter. He began by leaning forward and taking Brienne's gloved hand between his own. Brienne stared at her father, the lines creased into his face and the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Brienne,” he began with a tired sigh, “There is some news I am afraid may distress you. I met with my physician two nights past,”

Brienne stiffened, ice flooding her body and turning her fingers numb. “And?” she asked desperately.

“I fear this winter will be my last,” he said gently.

“No,” Brienne cried, “You can't-you just can't... father _please!”_

“Brienne, listen to me. My life is coming to an end and I have made my peace with it. What I cannot make my peace with is knowing that I will be leaving you in the hands of a cad like Ronnet Connington,” Selwyn explained, “And so I have refused my permission for you two to wed, and I dare-say his pride will be too hurt for him to ask again. He has left Evenfall Hall and will thankfully not return until my death,”

Selwyn reached out and stroked his daughter's cheek. It was not until he was drying the tears away, that Brienne realised she was crying.

“I know this will mean losing the estate,” Selwyn continued, “But I think you will find it will no longer be your home even if you were to remain,”

“But...the tenants?” Brienne protested.

“Will be at the mercy of Connington whoever he may wed,” Selwyn pointed out, “I cannot lie and say I do not share your dread of what will happen to Evenfall when Connington becomes master, but I can ensure that neither of us will be forced to witness it when the time comes,” Selwyn grimaced, “As for yourself, I will not have you fearing for your future,”

Brienne could have laughed. _Her_ future was the last thing on her mind.

“You will receive an annuity,” he informed her, “Although I cannot promise you a high sum, the entail does not allow me to divide the estate in a manner that will leave you your due. But, there will be some money. And the Starks have graciously allowed you to stay with them at Winterfell until the time comes for you to wed,”

 _'That was what he was discussing with Lord and Lady Winterfell,'_ Brienne realised, her father had pressed them to take her on as an indefinite guest. For Brienne knew well enough that she was now unlikely to wed.

Selwyn's grip on his daughter's hand tightened, and he spoke with increased urgency. “Brienne, I will only ask of you one thing. When I am gone, I beg you to marry for love and no other reason. Not duty, for I have relieved you of it. Not comfort, for you shall never go without at Winterfell. And certainly not for pity or obligation, for you owe no man your hand. Though Connington has shown us well enough that certain gentleman may feel otherwise, merely for having condescended to ask you. Marry for love, and nought else. Will you promise me this?”  
  
  


Choking, and unable to squeeze out a word, Brienne nodded. Even in the face of her tears, Selwyn smiled in contentment. He closed his eyes, lay his head against the cushions, and allowed himself to rest.

 


	8. Chapter 8-Winterfell

_**~In which Lady Brienne's current situation is explained in detail.~** _

Her father's prediction proved correct. Lord Tarth's last breath rose and fell alongside the last of the Autumn leaves, and with equal gentleness did he make his journey from this world to the next. For all of her father's peace, Brienne found her life thrown into turmoil. In rapid succession she lost her father and her home. Lord and Lady Winterfell, who had been in attendance for the funeral, had bustled her away to their grim castle up North before Mr Connington had a chance to finish counting the silverware.

Lady Winterfell had mothered Brienne relentlessly, constantly seeing to it that she ate and slept. She was kindness itself and in truth, Brienne found herself glad to have someone to care for her, even if somewhat embarrassed. She didn't feel as though she was particularly helpless, or in need of coddling, but then she would find herself going days without eating a full meal or nights without sleeping, dozing off in the Drawing Room instead.

The Starks were sympathetic and welcoming, and Lady Winterfell endeavoured to do all she could to make Winterfell appear a second home for Brienne. Unfortunately, Brienne was all too aware that Winterfell was not her home and her pride demanded that she offered a portion of her annuity as rent. In turn, Lady Winterfell's pride demanded she refuse such an offer, believing that providing Brienne's board was her duty.

She also saw it as her duty to guard Brienne from certain, unwholesome acquaintances. And so she refused on Brienne's behalf any offer of her staying at Casterly Rock or at Lady Genna's town-house, arguing that Brienne needed time to grieve. This, she did with her husband's encouragement and thus Brienne was kindly spared any invitations. True, the slight taste of deceit was foul in Lady Winterfell's mouth, but she knew it to be necessary.

Brienne had a tender heart and knew not of Lord Lannisport's true character, which Lady Stormlands had been kind enough to divulge when they visited Storm's End. Lady Winterfell did not truly care for the woman, but even she felt sympathy for the vile way Lord Lannisport had used his beautiful cousin, manipulating her in the wake of her parents' death. To seduce and abandon his own cousin! It had been quite brave of Lady Stormlands to admit her past indiscretions, and for that Lady Winterfell was grateful.

Her revelation made it clear Lord Lannisport was a dangerous man, even worse than the other Lannisters, with Lord Westerlands' political scheming and Lady Genna's debauchery. And it was from the likes of Lord Lannisport that Brienne needed protection from.

A protected Brienne did find out about the invitation to stay, but only found out of the offer when Lord Lannisport wrote to her directly, offering his condolences for the loss of her father and her being forced to live with the Starks.

Reading the letter, Brienne could not help but wonder if Jaime felt the latter to be the greater cause for grievance. In truth, she would have moved out and found lodgings of her own, yet her annuity was small and most of it was being diverted elsewhere.

Her latest letter contained distressing news. Jaime had writ to inform her that several tenants had been cast from their homes, whilst many others suffered from increased rent and poor management. Connington had instated a Steward of such incompetence that had his doings not been so disastrous in their outcomes, Brienne would have laughed. The homes of the tenants were in disrepair, roofs falling in and woodworm in the stairs. To pay for his gambling debts, Connington had dismissed all those he deemed superfluous, so farmers were forced to work the lands with half the help. All the while, Ronnet Connington was floundering his inheritance away in King's Landing on lavish parties, horses and barouche boxes.

As a result, Brienne found herself shelling out the vast majority of her annuity to the people of her former home. For all that her father had released her of any obligation to Evenfall, Brienne had not. And so she was left with pittance. Yet despite all of Brienne's best efforts, the news from Evenfall was worse with each passing day. Spring arrived and Brienne had emerged from a grief-filled daze to enter into a constant state of agitation.

Her life at Winterfell was far more sedate than she had been accustomed to. Her afternoons were mainly spent sewing with Lady Winterfell and her two daughters. Most of the time, she could barely sit still and fidgeted as though she was all over in fleas.

Lady Winterfell, who had been watching over her God-daughter like a mother wolf, smiled as Brienne sighed longingly and gazed out the window.

“You're just as restless as Arya,” Lady Winterfell remarked fondly, nodding at her squirming younger daughter, “The weather is fine, the first blue skies we've seen in weeks. Why don't you two go for a ride?”

Arya leapt up from her seat eagerly, Brienne following at a more restrained pace.

“Would you care to join us, Lady Sansa?” Brienne asked the elder daughter, an exquisite beauty of fifteen.

Sansa cast a glance outside the window and demurred, returning to her sewing. She preferred to stay inside lest the howling wind damage her complexion.

Brienne and Arya waited until they had exited the Drawing Room and were out of Lady Winterfell's line of sight, before running along the hallway and scurrying up the stairs in much haste to get changed. Arya barrelled up the carpeted staircase while Brienne skidded to a halt as she drew level with a powdered, liveried footman.

“Do you have any letters for me?” she inquired softly, “Any letters from the South?”

Jaime had promised to write when he next had any news on Evenfall Hall. In lieu of the catastrophic circumstances of the estate, in her last letter Brienne had asked a rather delicate service of the gentleman, which she desperately hoped would come to fruition.

Brienne received many letters from Jaime, but she noted that some of them referred to information or past letters she had never seen. As such, it began to occur to her that Lady Winterfell, honest as she was, had decided that it was her obligation to limit the repugnant Lannister's contact with Brienne. Although Lady Winterfell could not condone actively stealing Brienne's letters, if one should fall into her hands by chance and happen to go missing, it would not be so terrible a thing.

As such, Brienne always made sure ask for any letters at every opportunity, getting to them before they had a chance to be intercepted.

There was another cause for Brienne's desire for news from the South. Several months had past since her father's death and her own relocation up North. Lord Lannisport, nor any other Lannister, would ever be welcome to Winterfell and so Brienne had not seen him since before her father's passing. She had laid eyes on his face, with its wicked eyes and mocking smile, nor heard is voice for many months now. Yet, when reading his letters she could see him plain as day sitting beside her. She heard his voice loud and clear as a bell.

And for some inexplicable reason, Brienne needed this.

This constant demand for letters came at a great amusement for the rest of the Starks, who knew not of her correspondence with Lord Lannisport. They teased her mercilessly on a supposed admirer, who was sadly not entirely fictitious.

Lord Winterfell's nephew, Jon Snow, was an officer in the army and had introduced Brienne and the rest of the family to a bosom friend and fellow comrade of his, Mr Tormund Giantsbane. The bluff red haired northern officer had taken one look at the statuesque Lady Brienne and convinced himself to be utterly besotted. He too wrote to her. And what his letters lacked in wit, courtesy, interest or eloquence they far made up for in quantity. Brienne could have well done without his letters, and never replied to them. And yet the Stark children were utterly convinced of Brienne's attachment to the fellow Northerner.

Arya had halted at the top of the stairs, beaming down on Brienne as she let the footman past.

“No love letters today?” she called down mockingly, a glint in her eyes, “You're getting as bad as Sansa,”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Brienne snapped, blushing furiously, “Run along and put on your habit. If you don't meet me back downstairs, I shall ride on without you,”

 


	9. Chapter 9-Winterfell

_**~In which Lady Brienne is unable to escape the presence of odious redheads.~** _

Unlike the Lady Sansa, who lived, dreamed and breathed romance, Arya had little interest in love. And so, once the initial teasing passed, she thankfully dropped the subject of any possible beau paying court to Brienne. They trotted along merrily, the wind biting their cheeks. Brienne's mount, a fine chestnut mare, was her last true reminder of Evenfall Hall. In truth, she rather thought she ought to sell the mare to raise money for her tenants. But so far from home and so lonely for all the company she was surrounded by, Brienne could not bring herself to relinquish the mare. Instead, she indulged herself in this one luxury and rode whenever possible.

Arya, despite her youth, kept up with Brienne's pace, even as they broke into a canter and then a hard gallop. They leaped over ditches and twisted through trees, until they were red in the face (complexions quite ruined) and slowed pack down to a trot. Arya began telling Brienne of the tenants at Winterfell, of the farmers and the blacksmith who she would sneak off to visit in his forge to watch him make horseshoes and even swords. Brienne smiled as she listened to the girls' excited chatter. The pair had both been cooped up for days as the weather had been rather foul. The stormy eyed Stark girl had a tendency to turn sullen and snappish whenever forced into idleness, and was looking happier than she had in days.

Her joy only increased as a familiar figure rode forward in the distance.

“Jon!” cried Arya, ecstatic at the sight of her adored cousin, whom she had not seen in weeks. She urged her horse onwards, flying towards Mr Snow. The two cousins dismounted and embraced fiercely. Brienne obligingly followed behind her, trotting up to the group. She smiled to herself at the joy on Arya and Mr Snow's faces, not taking note of Mr Snow's riding companion. Indeed, she did not truly see him until she had drawn up with the party and it was too late.

“Lady Brienne!” the red haired north-man cried out jubilantly, “What a boon it is to see you here,”

The smile slipped off Brienne's face. She shuddered at the sight of Mr Tormund Giantsbane's lecherous eyes raking over her.

“Mr Giantsbane,” she nodded stiffly, endeavouring to be stiffly, “You are joining Mr Snow for a visit?”

“Actually,” Mr Snow cut in as he helped Arya back into her seat, “I've been assisting Giantsbane on a bit of business,”

“Business!” Mr Giantsbane repeated, “I call it pleasure. Or at least,” he added, raising a significant eyebrow at Brienne, “It should lead to a great deal of pleasure, if all goes well,”

Brienne tried to keep a blank face as Arya and Mr Snow exchanged conspiratorial smirks.

“Oh,” Brienne said blankly, “That is very nice. Lady Arya, perhaps we should start back for Winterfell now?”

“What's the rush?” Mr Giantsbane interrupted, before Arya could answer, “Our business is concluded and we have the afternoon free. Why not enjoy the fresh air?”

Brienne ignored him. “Lady Arya?” she persisted, silently begging for Arya to get the hint.

Arya got the hint. She immediately saw Brienne's discomfort and desire to leave Giantsbane's company. As such, she immediately shot down Brienne's suggestion.

“We can't possibly turn back yet,” Arya insisted, “It is far too fine. Jon, race me down by the creek,” ordered, turning her horse round and speeding off, Mr Snow hot on her heels.

In their dust they left behind a delighted Mr Giantsbane and a dismayed Lady Brienne, who urged her horse onto a bouncy trot that carried her away from Mr Giantsbane as quickly as etiquette allowed. Unfortunately, Mr Giantsbane possessed both a good mount and a complete disregard for etiquette and quickly caught up to Brienne. He steered his horse almost dangerously close to Brienne's, so that their legs brushed and Brienne could feel his hot breathe on her neck. She sped up her horse.

“The little lady's a good rider,” Giantsbane remarked as he watched the cousins race, “Like her cousin. I suppose you're the same. You look like you enjoy a long, hard ride!” at this, he burst into a forceful gale of laughter, shoulders lurching up and down.

“I do,” Brienne agreed coldly, “When I have a well mannered mount. Preferably who listens to my cues,”

“Ah, me,” Giantsbane continued, “I prefer something with a bit of spirit. Something that fights back,”

“If you find your horse is always fighting back, you're probably riding it wrong,” Brienne pointed out. She suddenly remembered her ride with Jaime towards Storm's End, and felt a pang of longing. Would that she was back there, at home in the Stormlands. Would that Jaime was with her now.

“Well, Jon is riding well,” Giantsbane continued, “He's a bold rider. You wouldn't expect him to be so brave, not if you've seen what I have,” he brayed once more in laughter as Brienne recoiled in disgust, “I'm sorry for the fool of the wife who ends up marring him!” he declared, slapping his horse, “She will be in for a disappointment, unlike my own wife I must say,”

Brienne didn't need to look to feel Tormund Giantsbane's eyes gazing at, though she did catch his tongue flickering out of his mouth and licking at his lips.

She continued to feel his eyes boring into her as she followed his cue and threw all sense of manners out of the window, and urged her horse onto a gallop. She raced as far ahead as she could, her sweet mare exerting herself greatly to carry her mistress safely away. Even when Brienne had reached Winterfell and the red haired lecher was long out of sight.

She dismounted in the stables and returned to the house, cringing all the way. The weight of his eyes and the heat of his breath had settled upon her skin and was caught in her hair and clothes like soot. Brienne was certain it would remain there until dinner, for not even a dozen baths could wash away Mr Giantsbane's pungent presence.

And yet, within moments of entering the hallway, all thoughts of Tormund Giantsbane was washed away like a grain of sand in the tide. A footman had approached her with letter, embossed with the Lannister crest and gloriously thick. Whether the news therein would be good or bad, that this stack of paper contained Jaime's words and Jaime's voice caused Brienne's heart to leap and brought her far more pleasure than was appropriate for any proper young lady.

 


	10. Chapter 10-Winterfell

_**~In which Lady Brienne receives some correspondence.~** _

Brienne didn't even bother washing before reading her letter, Tormund Giantsbane swept clear from thought and memory. She rushed up the stairs and locked herself in her room. She flopped before her vanity and tore open the envelope, desperate to see what Jaime had written. The letters were shaky, painstakingly written. Jaime loathed writing, and had admitted to Brienne that he struggled with words and numbers. That he would put so much effort in writing to her, and for so many pages. How could he make her feel this way, even from such a distance?

Brienne's delight only increased as she read the letter, to find the news far better than she had come to expect.

 _'My dearest Brienne_ (he had taken to addressing her as such, ever since she first called him Jaime.)

_As you have requested I have furthered my acquaintance with Ronnet Connington (I will not sully your late father's title by addressing him with such.) I have called on him near every day and even attended several if his soirées, so that he now introduces me as his particular friend. It seems we are both to be foisted with vulgar redheads who are hopelessly in love with us. Will you be willing to exchange yours for mine?_

_For all that I find the man repugnant, I have cultivated a friendship as per your request. Considering you know better than any what type of man he is, I am sure you understand the effort that has taken on my part, and thus the regard I hold for you. I can assure you that there is no other person I would undertake such a task for. But if you were to write and assure me my efforts have brought a smile to your sweet lips, then this weary soldier will know his travails have not been in vain. I could carry your letter against my heart always. I shall wear it through every dinner party, card game and ball that I am forced to endure Connington's presence, and draw strength from the solace it brings me._

_(Stop rolling your eyes, we both know you're smiling. And I can see your blush from the South.)_

_I am assured that this letter shall have me receive a most thankful one in return. Connington has indeed been courting me in the hopes of gaining influence with my father. In truth, I feel rather used. But, as it is, I have accepted my role as a mere stepping stone to greater things and have promised to make introductions between my father and Connington. He still desires to make something of a name for himself in politics, and knows my father has the King's ear._

_He's been dropping hints left and right, believing himself to be a master of subtly, before I called him out and had him tell me what he wanted like a man. On hearing his desires to make my father's acquaintance, I assured him I could well make the necessary introductions. That is, on some conditions._

_I relaid to him my deep concern that his home and estates are proving such a trial for him. I empathized with the struggle of running a castle and lands, and flattered him somewhat by expressing my admiration that he should wish to take on the burden of aiding in the running of our great country alongside this. However, both my dearest fondness for him and my general feelings of duty as a fellow land owner prohibit me from aiding him in his political career until I am sure he has proper support in running the estate. I also added that my father cares a great deal for legacy, and has no time for wastrels who let their estates go to ruin._

_And so, with this in mind, he eagerly accepted my proposition that he hire the steward whom you wrote of last. I must say madam, you made your inquiries incredibly well. We both met with the man, and you are quite right my most erudite lady, he seems exceedingly competent. I made it clear that no other man would do, and if Connington were to refuse to take him on I must think him lacking in any judgement._

_Connington hired him then and there. In the short time he has began his employment, your chosen steward has already made vast improvements._

_Fortunate I am to be the bearer of good news, I can also assure that several of the families who Connington has cast from his land are now once more receiving shelter. I made some noises about how we, as gentleman and lords, have a duty to the poorest and helpless of this country. The day after I said this, Connington boasted at large of his benevolence towards the tenants and former workers of his lands. Though I must say I suspect he is only paying lip-service to the role of benevolent land-lord, and so you must keep digging into your pockets._

_I shall have to pay up my end of the bargain, and have my father find him a place in parliament. I shall try to ensure that Connington receives a role that is more pomp than true power. Connington is a selfish, petty man, very well-aware of his own self-importance and with no regard or compassion to the well-being of others. As such, he is perfect politician material and would no doubt prosper far if he is allowed to. I must not let that happen._

_Even so, it would all be worth it as I can now tell you that your home is in capable hands once more, and the people safe in their homes. Now, didn't I tell you this letter would make you write to me with joy and thanks? I hope I am right. I have missed your smiles, sparingly granted as they were. And it would do me well to have you write to me of them._

_With the most tender and fondest regards,_

_Jaime.'_

The letter did receive smiles. Smiles and kisses, for Brienne had more than once pressed her lips against the paper in jubilance. She read the letter again, and then again. She read it in full several times, before contenting herself with skimming to certain parts. His jokes and his exaggerations and every time he called her 'Brienne', forgoing both propriety and her title in favour of intimacy.

Brienne knew not how long she has spent beaming at her letter, but clearly some time had past by the time she was startled from her reverie by a quiet cough at the door.

“Not dressed yet?” Lady Winterfell said, smiling indulgently, “Why, you haven't even washed!”

“I'm sorry my lady,” Brienne said bashfully, tucking away her letter and stumbling to her feet, “I shall start getting ready now,”

Lady Winterfell's hawk like eyes caught sigh of the letter and narrowed, though she smiled and nodded stiffly. She rang the bell for hot water to be brought up as Brienne moved behind the screen and began climbing out of her riding habit. From behind the screen, Brienne saw Lady Winterfell move towards her wardrobe.

“I think perhaps, my dear,” Lady Winterfell suggested gently, ruffling through Brienne's clothes, “That it is time you put away your black things and wear something a little less sombre,”

She produced a quiet mauve evening dress. Brienne paused behind her screen. Technically, she was in half-mourning, but she could not quite bring herself to transition from black. It the weeks passing her father's death, she refused herself any solace or consolation. Should she ever be distracted from her grief, Brienne would admonish herself sharply. She could think of no greater betrayal than to forget her father's passing. As the months passed her guilt lessened, but she still she felt she owed it to her father to remain in full mourning.

She peered round doubtfully at the mauve dress.

“I'm...I'm not sure, my lady, that I am quite-” Brienne mumbled.

“Come now, my dear,” Lady Winterfell coaxed, “Sufficient time has passed, it is perfectly respectable. And your father would not want you to smother yourself in black, he would think it time to try something different,”

Brienne still looked doubtfully at the gown, but nodded. She ducked back round the screen while Lady Winterfell smiled approvingly. She fingered the soft fabric of the gown as a maid entered with hot water for Brienne to wash.

“You will look very fine in this,” Lady Winterfell announced, “Which is fortunate for we shall have guests tonight,”

“Mr Snow?” Brienne hazarded, dread settling into the pit of her stomach as she changed into fresh small clothes.

“And his friend, Mr Giantsbane also,” Lady Winterfell added lightly.

Brienne grimaced. Lady Winterfell tutted at Brienne's scowl, nodding curtly at the maid to help Brienne dress.

“Now Brienne, I know you care little for Mr Giantsbane-”

“I'm surprised such a vulgar man is welcome at Winterfell,” Brienne said, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“He is a far better man than _some_ ,” Lady Winterfell said. When her head emerged from the gown, Brienne could see Lady Winterfell glaring pointedly at Jaime's letter.

“Some,” Brienne conceded, _'But not all,'_ she thought defiantly.

 


	11. Chapter 11-Winterfell

_**~In which Lady Brienne receives a proposal even more romantic than Mr Connington's.~** _

Brienne had the dubious honour of being escorted into dinner by Mr Giantsbane, and being seated beside him. Fortunately, he made no attempts of starting any conversations, and so Brienne was not called upon to shut them down. Perhaps he knew that his discussions points would not be welcomed at Lady Winterfell's dinner table.

His manner in eating was abhorrent enough. The way he fixed his eyes on Brienne and chewed slowly, rolling the food around in his clenched jaw as he raised his eyebrows. At least he was using his knife and fork. When they first met, Brienne had been chaperoning Sansa on a picnic with Jon and several other officers. Then he had just stuffed handfuls of cold chicken into his mouth, grease dribbling down his wiry beard. Tonight, he was comparatively civilised.

Brienne's mortification must have shown on her face, for even the dour Lord Winterfell was smiling and smirking into his plate. Mr Snow kept catching Giantsbane's eyes and exchanged knowing grins, whilst the eldest Stark boy winked at a smirking Arya. Only Sansa, with her love for chivalry and romance, looked on Brienne with sympathy. Even with Sansa's quiet support, Brienne found herself praying for the evening to end.

She adjourned to the Drawing Room with the other ladies, eyes fixed on the clock as she counted the minutes until she could politely excuse herself for bed. She would do so claiming a headache, though in truth any sickness was in her stomach. Perhaps she could escape before the gentlemen even arrived.

It was too late to do so. As the very thought crossed her mind, to door opened and Brienne braced herself for the arrival of the gentlemen. Or in this case, the gentle _man._ For when he entered, Mr Tormund Giantsbane entered alone.

Heart dropping to the pit of her stomach, Brienne could only watch with growing dismay as Lady Winterfell rose and ushered her girls from the room.

“Come along now Arya, Sansa dear, I have need of you upstairs. Not you Brienne, you stay down here and entertain Mr Giantsbane,”

Sansa threw a sympathetic look over her shoulder at Brienne, while Arya stifled her snorts and chortles. Whereas Brienne could feel her face fall at their exit, Mr Giantsbane's beam stretched widely across his mouth as he watched their retreating backs. He waited until the door was shut firmly, before turning to Brienne. His eyes examined her appreciatively, running over her form and lingering at her hips. Brienne shuddered. She wondered if this lecherous inspection was what Lady Winterfell intended when she hovered at Brienne's maid's elbow, issuing instructions on how to dress Brienne's hair.

Mr Giantsbane clicked his heels and tilted his head, and Brienne offered a shallow curtsey. She steeled herself, bracing herself for the man to go down onto one knee.

“Mr Giants-” she began, only to be abruptly cut off.

“Brienne,” Giantsbane cut in, not noticing Brienne an incredulous eyebrow at the intimacy of his address. In a few short moments, his address appeared mere pittance as he stormed up to her with such force that she was knocked back into the couch. He sat beside her to her left and locked her in by by pressing his left arm to the wall. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear “Alone at last,”

“Mr Giantsbane,” Brienne swallowed in a vain attempt to keep her voice still and contain her anger. Once more, the odious man interrupted her.

“You recall me mentioning some business that brought me here?”

Brienne in fact remembered very little of their previous conversation, apart from the predatory look in Giantsbane's eyes. Even so, she nodded politely.

“Well, I am happy to say I have secured the purchase of Karhold Manor!” he declared.

“I am pleased to hear,” Brienne said stiffly.

“And now, I am in a position to secure something else,” he continued, near growling as he breathed down her neck, “To secure an even greater prize,”

Brienne glanced down at his arm, trapping her on the couch. “Yes I've noticed that,”

“And surely you have noticed my desire for you. I have needed you, hungered for you, ever since I first laid eyes on you,” he licked his lips, “And so you must consent to becoming my bride,”

Brienne nearly laughed. To think she had escaped from the arms of one obnoxious redhead, only to find herself plummeting into the arms of another. At least wedding Connington would have secured her home, and he never doubted her dislike of him. Deciding to leave Giantsbane no more room for doubt, she clutched his arm and shoved it away. She stood, backing away towards the door.

“Mr Giantsbane,” Brienne said, holding her hand to silence Giantsbane, “I am sorry to cause disappointment in anyone, but I must refuse your offer,”

Giantsbane just sat there, staring gormlessly at her, before his face cracked into smile. “I know what this is. You southern ladies like to play your little courtship games. Alright,” he chuckled standing up, “I'll be game. You play the coy maiden and act all bashful, I'll wait. I can assure you my enthusiasm won't waver,”

Brienne collapsed into the nearest seat in shock. “I'm not sure you understand me Mr Giantsbane-”

“I can assure you I understand perfectly,” Giantsbane beamed, “You are hesitant to accept my proposal out of fear of appearing too enthusiastic. You are afraid of your own feelings, which I see now are even stronger than I had first supposed,”

Brienne shook her head, “Do you mean to tell me that my _refusal_ has only convinced you that I mean to accept?”

“I do,” Mr Giantsbane nodded.

“And what if I said yes, would you still believe me willing to marry you then?” Brienne clarified.

“I would,” he replied.

“So, in conclusion, there is no response I could make to convince you that I hold you in very little regard. That I think your manners appalling and your conversation worse. That there is nothing I can say to make you believe that not in a million winters shall I ever choose to marry you? There is nothing I can say to make you understand this?”

“Nothing at all,” Giantsbane confirmed.

“Well, in that case,” Brienne said, gathering her skirts, “Good day, Mr Giantsbane,”

And with that, Brienne promptly turned her back and exited the room without another word.

Tormund Giantsbane watched her, blinking. For a moment, a semblance of doubt crossed his mind, before he shook it away and smiled once more.

“She's smitten,” he sighed.

 


	12. Chapter 12-Winterfell

_**~In which Lady Winterfell offers some motherly guidance.~** _

“Are you mad? Are you completely out of your senses?”

Brienne started in her seat, head whipping round to find Lady Winterfell fuming in her doorway. Her cheeks were flushed red to match her fiery locks. Despite her agitated state, her hair and dress remained impeccable, leaving Brienne feeling dishevelled and flustered. Brienne found herself swallowing nervously. She had fled past Lord and Lady Winterfell along with the rest of the Starks, who had been waiting eagerly on the stairs for news of an engagement. Mr Snow had in fact suggested (with Lord Winterfell's agreement) that a particular fine bottle of wine be brought up from the cellars, so certain was he of his friend's happiness.

None had thought she would decline, and only Lady Sansa suspected her reservations. Instead of joyously relating the news of her oncoming nuptials, Brienne had retreated to her rooms in the hope of finding some calm before the ensuing storm. She had been half-way through taking the pins from her hair when Lady Winterfell thundered in.

It seemed that storm had arrived earlier than expected.

Lady Winterfell stormed into Brienne's bedroom and slammed the door shut firmly behind her. Brienne took a calming breath and steeled herself in preparation for Lady Winterfell's wrath. Lady Winterfell looked apt to attempt to grab a hold of Brienne and shake some sense into her, but Brienne would not allow herself to be pressured or bullied into the match. She was of the Stormlands after all, she could withstand even Lady Winterfell's tempest.

“Lady Winterfell,” Brienne said politely.

“Mr Giantsbane has just informed me you rejected his suit,” her Godmother snapped.

Brienne raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Has he finally realised that it was a rejection?”

“No, he still believes that you are playing coy,” Lady Winterfell admitted, “But I know you better than that, you're not the type to play games,”

“Indeed I am not,” Brienne snorted.

“Fortunately for you, he still believes this. Come to your senses dear and accept him,” Lady Winterfell said, near pleading, “Mr Giantsbane is wealthy, has distinguished himself in the army and now has a property fit for any wife. Meanwhile you are penniless, with nothing but your name to recommend you. You are lucky Mr Giantsbane has formed an attraction to you,”

Brienne promptly turned her back and continued to take her hair down. She stared at her reflection, her limp locks and square face and broken nose. She knew that it was not just her lack of dowry or property that Lady Winterfell thought her fortunate to find any admirer. She reached out and discretely took her latest letter from Jaime into her hands.

Lady Winterfell rolled her eyes at Brienne's flinch, “It may not please you to hear this, but you are not a child anymore. The real world is not a fairy tale and you must be reasonable about your prospects. Mr Giantsbane is devoted to you, utterly and hopelessly in love with you-”

“We've only met five times,” Brienne turned back round, staring up at Lady Winterfell incredulously.

“And yet you have already formed an utterly unforgivable opinion of him,” Lady Winterfell carried on, “You won't even give him a chance,”

“How is it that you can believe Mr Giantsbane has fallen in love with me in five meetings, but my objections are dismissed?” Brienne demanded, “Why are his feelings accepted but my feelings are expected to change?”

“Oh, I am certain Mr Giantsbane's feelings are going to change,” Lady Winterfell said, “He is infatuated, and infatuation always fades. But _he_ may grow on you,”

Brienne found herself blinking, eyes stinging. “I don't want to marry a man because I might grow to like him,” she murmured, returning to her reflection and finishing off her hair. She knew she sounded like a child, all naivete and petulance. But she knew her mind and her heart. On this, she would not falter.

Lady Winterfell sighed sympathetically and ran her hair down Brienne's locks. “I know my dear, it's not quite the grand romance we all grow up dreaming off, but life isn't like that. My own marriage to Ned was arranged by our father's, we had no say. All we simply had to do was turn up at the right place and say the right words. But now,” she smiled a little wistfully, “I couldn't love anyone better. He has provided me with a lovely home and five wonderful children. And he has been my dearest friend and constant support, you might find that with Mr Giantsbane,”

 _'But I've already found that with someone else,'_ Brienne thought suddenly, mind springing towards her stack of letters from Jaime.

“Lady Winterfell,” Brienne said calmly, “I am well aware that you only want what is best for me, but I know that I shall never find happiness with Tormund Giantsbane. I can never be happy with a man who does not respect me,”

“Does not respect you? How can you say that? He holds more regard for you than anyone,”

“He _desires_ me, that is not the same thing,” Brienne said stiffly, “If he respected me, he would have taken greater efforts, or any effort, to see that I am comfortable. He has never once shown any care that his advances have distressed me, that they disturb me. He clearly shows no concern for my feelings. This is how he behaves to me now, think of his attitude towards me should we wed? When I will live in his house and he will be lawfully entitled to me, heart and,” she gagged, “body. He has not made me happy yet, and he will never make me happy in the future,”

Lady Winterfell reached out and snapped the letter from Brienne's hands, giving it a contemptuous glance and throwing it to the floor.

“If you think Lord Lannisport will bring you happiness, you are a simpleton. His poor cousin told me all of how he betrayed her, made promises he had no intention of keeping and then refused to honour his word. Her reputation and her prospects could have been ruined because of him. He swore his love to his cousin, promised to wed her, and then abandoned her for his won amusement. And you believe Lord Lannisport will make you happy?” she sneered.

“He already has,” Brienne said simply, cheeks flaming bright red at the horrified look in Lady Winterfell's eyes at the revelation, “I mean, he has assisted me in taking care of Evenfall Hall,” she hastily clarified, “By befriending the new Marquess and offering up suggestions for how he runs it,” Brienne produced her stack of letters and laid a reverent hand upon them, “As for your claims against Lord Lannisport's character, I know them to be quite false. He always intended to keep his promise to Lady Stormlands, for he does keep his word. I know this for he promised to help with Evenfall Hall, and he has. He has been most helpful,”

Lady Winterfell's handsome face twisted into an ugly scowl. “You are brimming with gratitude for that Lannister wretch,” she hissed, “But you care nothing for us, the family who has taken you in,”

Brienne blinked rapidly, but managed to keep her voice calm and collected. “I can assure that I am full of gratitude for all that you and your family has done for me,” she said truthfully, “Although I admit that when I accepted your invitation to come here, I had not known it was dependant upon me accepting the first offer of marriage thrown my way,”

“Don't be ridiculous. You are welcome here no matter what, but you cannot hide yourself away from the world. You must try to make a good match,” Lady Winterfell said firmly, “You surely cannot be content with idling your days away here,”

“You are right,” Brienne admitted, “I have stayed here too long. It's time for me to make my own way in the world,”

Lady Winterfell shook her head and sank onto the bed, “You are being foolish. You surely don't expect us to cast you out into the cold?”

“I do not, but I find Winterfell has grown too stifling as it is,” Brienne said firmly, “I shall pack tonight and leave tomorrow,”

“Brienne, please think sensibly,” Lady Winterfell reached out and clasped Brienne's hand, “I only want to help you. I made a promise to your father to see you looked after, and Mr Giantsbane's prospects are your best chance of seeing you so,”

“I also made a promise to my father,” Brienne replied, “I promised to marry for love and nothing else. And that promise I shall keep,”

Lady Winterfell had turned white and still, seeing that Brienne would remain unmoved.

Brienne sighed. “I shall leave tomorrow,”

 


	13. Chapter 13-King's Landing

_**~In which Lady Brienne flees the cold of the North to the warmth of the South.~** _

Brienne accepted a fare for the carriage to King's Landing, a hug from Sansa and Arya, a packed lunch and nothing else. Her mare was to be ridden up in a few days. Though Lord Winterfell tried to press ten gold dragons on her and Lady Winterfell twenty, Brienne politely declined with her thanks. Neither was comfortable with the thought of a young lady travelling alone, but Brienne insisted on heading off at once and refused to wait for a companion to be found. She only delayed long enough to send an urgent message to Jaime, informing him of her arrival in King's Landing.

Mr Snow was to drive her to meet the morning post, and Brienne was glad that he was to take her no further. The ride was cold and any attempts of conversation stilted. Mr Giantsbane had finally gathered that when Brienne had rejected his offer, she meant to reject his offer. Naturally it took some time, for their had been some vagueness in her ' _I must refuse your offer'_ but somehow he managed to read through the lines and gather her true meaning.

He had been desolate ever since.

Brienne was somewhat sorry to have caused the man any grief, although significantly less so had the grief come earlier with her first rejection. But still, she felt a slight smidgen of guilt. For all that she had endeavoured to make her lack of feelings for him evident, Giantsbane clearly believed she had given him cause to hope and so it seemed, did Mr Jon Snow. He had left his friend that morning, having stayed with him the night before offering comfort, to come straight to Winterfell to collect Brienne and her luggage.

Jon had received front row seats to Tormund's heartbreak, and was infuriated on his comrade's behalf. His ire needed direction and Lady Brienne was the natural recipient. She was the villain in Tormund's tragic love story. The heartless seductress who had mercilessly toyed with Tormund's tender heart before throwing it down before him and crushing it beneath her heel with malice and scorn. Clearly, quite clearly, she was to blame. The vile, deceitful wanton.

Still, he was a gentleman and remained cordial. For all that Tormund's wails still rang in his ears and his sorrowful eyes sent a pang to Jon's stomach, he kept his loathing of Brienne to himself. No matter how much it would have pleased him to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled, he stayed civil. And not just because she could probably knock the air from his lungs. He was a gentleman. He would deliver her South and, if his aunt's speculation was true, to the arms of Lord Lannisport.

No doubt the feckless Lannister would use her and break her heart, bringing her the agony and leaving her as crestfallen and woebegone as she had left Tormund Giantsbane. And serve her right!

Through the set of Mr Snow's mouth and the tautness of the grip on the reins, Brienne gathered the contempt in which she was held. Although unpleasant to be so disliked, Brienne took some solace in Mr Snow's ardent defence of his friend. His fierce loyalty to Mr Giantsbane reassured Brienne that Mr Giantsbane was receiving more comfort and sympathy than he probably deserved, and she ceased feeling any guilt or responsibility for Giantsbane's well-being.

They reached the inn from which Brienne would take the post chaise, and handed her over to the driver to mutual relief. The journey passed without incident. Unaccompanied young lady she may be, but any possible harassers must have been warded off by her gargantuan height and set frown. In her severe cloak and plain bonnet, Brienne was aware she made a thoroughly unappealing prospect for thieves and assailants.

She rested shortly at an inn for dinner, but instead of staying the night she carried on in the coach. She was anxious to reach King's Landing and find some appropriate lodgings swiftly. She remained bolt upright and awake all throughout the journey, for she had no intention of letting down her guard and going to sleep. To her fellow passengers, she must have appeared a formidable statue rather than a young lady of breeding.

She was dropped off at an inn during the early hours of the morning in the Riverlands, where she was to catch her next carriage. She ate a bowl of porridge and caught some rest, before the coach arrived and she was on her way again. It was a repeat of the previous day, and by the time she reached King's Landing that evening, she was rumpled, bruised and thoroughly dishevelled.

She traipsed up and down the paved streets in search of lodgings, and found a respectable inn tucked away on the end of an unfashionable street. Aware of her meagre allowance, she paid for the cheapest room. A small attic bedroom that faced the courtyard. The bed was narrow and the ceiling too low, but it was inexpensive and a good enough place to start. She washed, ate some food, knocked her head against a low hanging beam and sent a message to Jaime alerting him to her arrival and whereabouts.

Utterly exhausted, she stripped off her shoes and stockings and clambered into her bed whilst in her small-clothes, leaving her luggage unpacked. Her blankets were thin and scratchy, and she found herself grabbing her cloak to use as an extra layer. With a measly fire flickering in the grate, Brienne lay shivering. Even so, weariness carried her away and she fell into a heavy slumber.

A heavy slumber that was immediately broken by the thundering of boots up her stairs. Brienne blinked away and winced at the sunlight hitting her tender eyes.

“My lady,” a voice assisted by a large rapping on the door called, “There is a Lord Lannisport and a Lady Genna Lannister wanting you in the yellow breakfast room,”

Brienne sat bolt up and scrambled out of her sheets. She threw her trunks open and struggled into a clean morning dress. Crouching before a tiny mirror, she plaited and pinned her limp hair and absurdly pinched her cheeks to bring some colour.

She made her way to the private breakfast room in haste, but found herself lingering in the doorway. Jaime was stood by the window, watching the action on the street below. The sun was shining through, catching the gold in his hair and casting a halo around his perfect profile. Her heart leapt at the sight of him. It had been so long. His letters had painted a picture of a Jaime who truly cared for, her she found herself fearing the truth would be quite different.

If nothing else, he was even more handsome than she remembered.

“Ah, Brienne,” he said, catching sight of her.

“Dear Lady Brienne,” Lady Genna said, smiling effusively, “How wonderful to see you. Do come in and have some breakfast,”

The table was groaning under platters of sausages and bacon and toast and eggs and kippers and kedgeree. Her stomach groaned as the savoury smell wafted towards her, but still she remained in the doorway.

“I am glad to see you both too,” Brienne said, “Though somewhat confused. My I inquire what brings you here?”

“I might ask the same thing,” Jaime cut in curtly. He crossed the room and took her arm, leading her to the window seat. “Tell me,” he said as they sat together, “Has something happened? None of your previous letters indicated any desire to come South. And all of a sudden I read you're fleeing up here with all haste. Already there is much gossip. Come now, something must have happened,”

“I'm escaping the grips of a lascivious North-man,” Brienne half joked.

Jaime's face turned dark, and Brienne hastened to assure him nothing serious happened.

Jaime raised an eyebrow, “I've heard that Starks were forcing you to marry him. That you had been held prisoner in Winterfell and fled the night before your wedding, climbing out of the window using your bed-sheets,”

“Hardly. As though I would do such a thing,” Brienne scoffed.

“Well I did suspect things got a bit embellished in the re-telling,” Jaime admitted, “What _did_ happen?”

“Mr Giantsbane asked for my hand and I refused,” Brienne said simply, “Unfortunately he is a particular favourite at Winterfell and his resulting heartbreak made my presence there somewhat uncomfortable. The Starks held me in rather dim view after that,”

“What? The Starks making people uncomfortable?” Jaime cried, “I would never believe it,”

Brienne smiled and rolled her eyes. “Now you know the reason for my presence, what brings you here?”

“I have come to take you to my town-house,” Lady Genna explained, helping herself to buttered toast, “You cannot possibly stay here,”

“Oh, I could not impose upon you,” Brienne stammered awkwardly.

“You may not for long,” Lady Genna said significantly.

Brienne turned to Jaime for an explanation.

“Town life suits Connington,” Jaime explained, “He has no interest in being a landowner, finds the whole thing a bit of a drag. I've reassured him that no one would think any less of him for selling up and establishing himself in town permanently,”

“Is that true?”

“No idea,” Jaime shrugged, “But the point is, Evenfall Hall is on the market,”

“But I can't afford Evenfall Hall,” Brienne pointed out, “Not at the price he would be asking,”

“But the Lannisters can,” Jaime said.

Brienne blushed and cast a hasty glance at Lady Genna. “Jaime,” she murmured softly. She could not possibly accept such a gift. Jaime had already been too kind.

“Aunt,” Jaime said, “Why don't you step outside for a moment?”

Lady Genna pouted, either at being deprived of the drama or her breakfast, but left the two in peace.

Jaime waited until the door was shut, and the two were left in privacy. Well, relative privacy. Neither doubted that Lady Genna was lurking outside the door. Jaime turned to her, his face serious and almost...fearful?

He lay a light hand on Brienne's cheek. He met her big blue eyes as they widened at the gesture, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Brienne,” he said softly, “Brienne. My regard for you cannot come as a surprise. Indeed, I have come to form a _tender_ attachment to you,”

“Jaime-” Brienne began.

“I love you,” Jaime said, “I'm _in_ love with you,”

His eyes flickered across her face, the nerves betraying his usual calm.

Brienne blinked. “This is a proposal?” she asked, incredulous laughter bubbling within her. Jaime was proposing to her. _Her_ Jaime.

“Brienne?” Jaime asked, confused at her laughter, “Is this a yes or...”

Brienne shook her head. “I...I just,” she stuttered, “My father made me promise to marry for nothing but love, not even for Evenfall,”

Jaime's face fell. “Ah,” he said simply.

“Which is why I cannot believe,” Brienne continued, “That I am fortunate enough to marry for both,”

Jaime paused, before breaking out into a smile larger than Brienne had ever seen and yet she knew was matched by her own. Jaime pressed his lips against her own and Brienne lingered in his hold, before breaking away, still laughing.

“Is this really happening?”

“It is,” Jaime assured her, “It is,”

He gathered her back into his arms. He had missed her so. But now that he had her, he was never letting her go.

Swallowing, he turned to her gravely.

“Now I know you love me also, I'm marrying you come hell or high water. But I must inform you that purchasing Evenfall is dependant upon my father's support,”

Brienne blinked nervously. “Will he approve?” she asked doubtfully, “I doubt I am the wife your father has in mind for you,”

“Oh, I'm certain you're not,” Jaime said airily, “That's probably why I like you. But we may be lucky. He's been on at me to wed for ages,”

“Is there anything I could do to help secure your father's support?” Brienne asked.

“There is,” Jaime assured her, “That's where my Aunt Genna is coming in,”

 


	14. Chapter 14-King's Landing

_**~In which preparations are made.~** _

Lady Genna smiled sympathetically at the pile of black, grey and mauve dresses laid across Brienne's bed.

Lady Genna Lannister's town house was a handsome manor on one of the most fashionable streets in King's Landing. It was decorated tastefully, with elegance and charm, and overlooked one of the finest gardens Brienne had ever seen. Unfortunately, Brienne had been denied the chance to explore the gardens or tour the house, though Lady Genna was proud of her home and would have been pleased to display it to her young guest.

Instead, Brienne found herself cloistered in her bedroom with Lady Genna, Lady Genna's lady's maid and Lady Genna's favourite dressmaker, who had been summoned with the utmost haste after the shabby state of her wardrobe had been revealed.

Brienne had sold the vast majority of her wardrobe to raise funds for her former tenants, and had little that was not mourning.

“Very nice dear, though perhaps not quite suitable for tonight,” she mused, fingering the fabric of Brienne's single evening gown, “I see Northern dressmakers haven't changed much, have they?”

“I've got no others,” Brienne explained anxiously, “I have a few other evening gowns, but I left them at Winterfell,”

Lady Genna patted her hand. “Don't worry, Mrs Donyse is very skilled. We will have you looking absolutely charming,”

It was only her respect for the assembled lady's that kept Brienne from scoffing sceptically at Lady Genna's declaration. Instead she meekly allowed the dressmaker to take her measurements and drape her in a deep blue silk. The colour was rich and near dark enough to be black. Jaime had brought it for her some time ago, with the intention to send it North.

Brienne had not seen her betrothed since he had escorted her to his aunt's house. They had spent the morning together and yet still she missed him. She longed to see him again that evening, even if he would be bringing his father in tow. And the mere thought of him had Brienne trembling. She winced as the dressmaker accidentally stabbed her with a pin.

“It's just a little dance,” Lady Genna said reassuringly, “Just a chance for you to meet Tywin,”

“And be deemed worthy of marrying his heir and receiving a sum large enough to procure the purchase of my home,” Brienne added.

“That too,” Lady Genna agreed.

Brienne nibbled upon her lip. “I trust your judgement Lady Genna, yours and Jaime's, I really do. But are you sure this is the best way to gain Lord Westerlands' favour? If he buys Evenfall Hall for Jaime he will be making an investment, surely it will be better if I were to convince him of how it may be profitable?” she suggested, “I could tell him about the crop yield, and the opportunities for trade. Evenfall Hall has a port and father was in discussions with merchants from Essos before he took ill, I'm sure we can still do business with them. Evenfall is in a optimal position for marble mining. Father did not wish to risk money on mining for marble, but with a bit of money behind it the mines could prove extremely-”  
Lady Genna shook her head a smiled, holding up her hand to silence Brienne's ramblings. “My dear, my brother is aware of every business opportunity and every estate in Westeros. Everything you could have to say about Evenfall Hall he knows already. Indeed, it would be an insult to suggest otherwise,” she stood beside Brienne and examined Brienne's reflection in the full length mirror. “It's not Evenfall Hall that will be under inspection tonight, my dear, it's _you_ ,”

Brienne looked at her reflection and sighed. “I'm never getting Evenfall back,”

Lady Genna chuckled at Brienne's pessimism. “Dear, we haven't even began preparations yet,” she assured her, “You will look absolutely lovely. And although Tywin does have some rather exacting standards, it cannot be denied that you are a young lady of good birth. Besides Jaime has rejected every woman who is not Cersei and Tywin is desperate for heirs. He cannot wait forever. What's more; you are hard working, dedicated and devoted to your duty. He cannot help but think well of you for the loyalty you have shown to Evenfall Hall, even after you lost it,”

Brienne calmed herself and nodded. Lady Genna's reassurance helped somewhat, but Brienne was still quaking enough to make herself liable to needle stabs. She did not think Lord Westerlands would like her or approve of her, but he might be willing to _make do_ with her.

After what felt like hours of being dressed, Brienne sat rock still before her vanity, not daring to move an inch. She was arrayed in her fine blue gown and her hair was becomingly styled. Her nose and freckles still caused her grief, both being too large and prominent, as were her teeth. Still, she had all of her teeth and that might be enough for Lord Westerlands. Especially if what Lady Genna said about his desires for male heirs turned out to be true.

Lady Genna had since departed to dress herself and oversee the final preparations for the dance. Brienne wished she had something to do to assist her host. Something to divert her nerves. All she had to do was wait.

“My lady,” a hesitant voice murmured from the door. Brienne twisted round to see a housemaid hovering in the doorway, carrying a black velvet jewellery case on a silver tray. Lady Genna followed in behind her.

“Ah, is that from Jaime?” she cried out, taking the case and dismissing the maid with a wave, “He said he would be sending it before the dance,”

She opened the case and gasped in pleasure. “Oh my, that's divine,”

Lady Genna didn't even bother to show Brienne the contents of the box before stringing an exquisite sapphire necklace around Brienne's neck.

“Sapphires,” Lady Genna nodded approvingly, “Of course Jaime would buy you a necklace to match your eyes. He always did compare them to sapphires,”

“Did he?” Brienne asked, touching her hand to the necklace, “He never said,”

“Really?” Lady Genna laughed, “He never told you how beautiful he thinks your eyes are? He never stops going on about them to the rest of us,” she passed Brienne the box, “He sent a note with it. Perhaps he will mention your eyes in that?”

The letter did not contain any mention of Brienne's eyes, but instead a plea for Brienne to avoid dancing.

 _'You deported yourself better than expected at our first dance,'_ the letter informed her, _'But perhaps tonight you might avoid any risks and keep off the dance floor. My father may have high standards for a prospective good daughter, but thankfully dancing is not one of them._

_Well...not whilst standing at least'_

Brienne's cheeks flared up, and she tilted the letter away from Lady Genna's gaze. The rest of the letter contained advice and reassurances. Brienne felt her nerves melting away, for whatever the outcome of the evening, she would be marrying Jaime. Jaime _would_ be her husband, they _would_ be married and would, as the letter said _'be dancing together soon.'_

 


	15. Chapter 15-King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter! A massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and left kudos.

_**~In which both Lady Brienne and Lady Stormlands make some revelations.~** _

Jaime took Brienne's gloved hand and gave it a kiss. They were stood together in a corner, catching a few minutes of each other's company before Lord Westerlands arrived. It was something of a boon that they were able to grasp a moments privacy in the midst of Lady Genna's bustling Drawing Room.

“Aunt Genna is treating you well?” he asked lightly, “You seem rather less dour this evening,”

“She's been lovely,” Brienne reassured him.

“I wish I could say the same about the rest of my family,” Jaime muttered darkly. Brienne followed his gaze to see Lady Stormlands glaring pointedly at the couple. Brienne met her gaze, stare for stare. Brienne knew that if she were to impress the formidable Tywin Lannister, she could not allow herself to be cowed. Not even by the likes of Cersei Baratheon. She maintained eye contact even as the lady glided towards the pair.

Lady Stormlands painted a smile on her face, its prettiness not quite masking the venom in her eyes. Rather like a snake lurking beneath the petals of a rose.

“Lady Brienne,” she trilled, “So good to see you again. The Stormlands have been quite bereft without your presence,”

Brienne bobbed a curtsey, Jaime's hand gripping her arm. “I am pleased to see you again also,” Brienne said carefully.

“I hear you have been staying with the Starks, quite delightful company I am sure. Of course, the North can be quite a dismal place. I have found it never quite suited me, lacking in society and culture or anything of beauty. But I suppose it suits you well,”

“It suited me well enough,” Brienne said, ignoring the insult, “But I have come south again now,” she fixed Cersei with a stare that could almost have considered threatening, “And I am here to stay,”

In the end, it was Cersei who dropped her eyes. “How nice,” she muttered, jerking her head and then moving away.

Jaime smiled proudly as he saw Brienne meet Cersei's challenge.

“I felt some guilt, dragging you into my family. Rather like throwing you into a pit of snakes, or better yet a lion's den But I should have remembered you were made of sterner stuff,”

“My stay at Winterfell hardened me,” Brienne admitted.

“Bloody Starks,” Jaime said under his breath. Her swigged his glass of wine, making the same scowl he always did whenever he thought of the Starks.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You will try to be civil with them, won't you? For my sake at least?”

“Very well, I will force myself to endure relations with the Starks, for _your_ sake. I dare say I can handle their glares and disapproval. Maybe they will even grow to like me. Though they're such a solemn lot I don't think I could tell the difference,”

“The Starks were good to me,” Brienne reprimanded him, “I owe them a great deal,”

“Including the courage to stand up to my dearest cousin?”

“It is not due to them that I no longer fear the likes of your cousin,”

“Oh? And who do you owe this to?” Jaime asked.

Brienne suppressed a smirk, aware of the reaction her answer would bring. “Mr Tormund Giantsbane,” she said simply.

“What?” Jaime snapped, before recovering himself somewhat, “I had no idea the man made such an impression,”

“Well,” Brienne explained, “All my life I have been ashamed that I am not beautiful, and longed to be so. Ladies like your sister were a constant reminder of everything I failed to be. I knew I appeared even more ridiculous beside them, and I feared that. I loathed how inferior I was beside them, even those kinder than your cousin, and how easy it was for them to make me feel worthless,” Brienne's voice caught up in her throat, the memories of the shame and embarrassment that haunted her youth still raw.

Jaime squeezed her hand, his thumb running along her knuckles.

“But,” Brienne continued, “Then I met a man who did believe me beautiful. My height, my strength, all those things that marked me as undesirable to others, made me a figure of desire for him,” a smile slipped across Brienne's face, “And I didn't like that either. Because, just like Connington and his ilk, all he saw was my height and my strength. As with all those other gentlemen, he had no desire to see past my face and find what was within. That left me feeling just as insulted as the rejection and scorn of others. For they all held the unanimous decision that there was nothing else worthwhile about me than my looks,” Brienne sighed and shook her head, “And now I know that it doesn't matter if I am beautiful or hideous. Though I cannot quite say I do not care, I shall always care a bit. But I am aware that being considered beautiful to look at will not bring me happiness. Nor pride. Not when that is all I am thought to be. Connington, Giantsbane, your cousin...people like them will always judge me for my face and my figure. But you cannot gain a true measure of a person's merit that way. So I know their opinion of me counts for nothing,”

Brienne paused here, and smiled at Jaime. Jaime smiled back, reaching out to comb a stray lock of hair away from her face. Their heads tilted forward, foreheads nearly touching.

“Now I know,” Brienne said softly, “That only the people who are willing to look beyond those things, are the people who matter. There's not many of them, but that just makes them all the more precious,”

Jaime placed a ghost of a kiss to Brienne's lips. “You are one of the bravest, most noble woman I have ever had the blessing to meet. But I cannot lie and tell you that I do not find you beautiful,”

“Oh, I know,” Brienne assured him, “But you didn't think that when we first me, did you?”

“No, I did not,” Jaime admitted.

“But now the way you look upon me makes me feel as though I were the most beautiful being on this Earth. For that change to occur whilst my face remains unaltered, I cannot help but feel flattered,”

Jaime's green eyes were warm and sparkling as he discretely drew Brienne closer. “A gentleman should flatter his lady when he is paying court,” he mused, “In return she may present him with a kiss. Will you bestow a kiss upon me, my lady?”

Brienne pressed a chaste kiss to Jaime's cheek, not willing to cause comment by going any further. Still, that one gesture was enough to inflame the ire of one particular lady.

Lady Stormlands gripped her near empty wine glass in her hand. Instead of holding court with her usual acquaintances, or keeping an eye on Robert, Cersei had watched the she-beast lurking with Jaime in a corner. She had heard the rumours of course, that ludicrous gossip about her handsome cousin and the hideous lady of Tarth, but she never believed them. And yet here was proof before her. She could not fathom it.

Jaime had been in love with her. He had held her lithe body in his arms and pressed kisses to her golden hair. How could he bare to look upon a woman with such a distasteful visage and lumbering form after he had loved a lady such as her?

It had taken her time, but at last Cersei grew to understand. It was spite. Society had known of her and Jaime's dalliance, though thankfully not how far it went. Jamie resented her for choosing Robert and for humiliating him in front of the society. And so he sought to do the same to her. And to do so, he paid court to that ludicrous creature, declaring to the world that the beautiful Cersei Baratheon could be replaced by a woman who was more bear than lady.

Unfortunately, Cersei knew Jaime to be a romantic fool. She saw that Jaime had grown to believe his own lies and was on the verge of trapping himself with an utter disgrace for a wife. Cersei knew she should leave him to his downfall. He would deserve it. But, she had a forgiving heart and she had loved him, once.

She would save her cousin. From the she-beast and from himself. From himself most of all.

 


	16. Chapter 16-King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final 'proper chapter', but I have a bonus chapter of out-takes that didn't quite fit into the story. That will come out tomorrow. Another massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed or left kudos.

_**~In which Lord Westerlands has the final say.~** _

“I am concerned for Jaime,” Cersei whispered into her uncle's ear.

Her venomous green eyes followed Lord Westerlands' cold ones to the pair in the corner. His son was smiling at the woman, if she could indeed be called that, and was touching her elbow in a most improper manner.

Lord Westerlands was not surprised by the sight. Tywin knew well enough why his sister invited him to her 'little dance'. She never bothered to invite him to her parties before. She knew he would refuse and Genna was the only person allowed to not bother extending him an invitation. Besides, the vast majority of her balls were intended to find a new 'gentleman friend'.

What brother wished to be present for that?

And yet, Genna had pressed him quite insistently to attend her latest soiree, last minute as it was, and only one thing could have caused her to do so. She had arranged this party, decked herself in her finery and ordered her brother to attend. She could only have done so for one reason. And if Tywin had not known that reason, he would have refused.

The woman, the _lady,_ was not what he would have expected of his son's choice. She certainly would not have been his own. Penniless, homely and graceless. There was once a time when Tywin would rather have plucked out his own eyeballs than allow such a woman to reign as mistress of Casterly Rock.

But that was before Jaime had turned forty with no bride in sight, and no heirs on the way. For all that Lady Brienne lacked, she did possess a fine set of hips. A strong vigorous woman such as herself should have little trouble in child bearing. Particularly with the way Jamie gazed after her.

Tywin could almost picture the grandchildren.

“Lady Brienne is a manipulative beast,” Cersei ranted, “She is using Jaime, toying with his emotions to get her claws into his and _yours_ wealth. She is a ruthless conniver who will stop at nothing to get her home back,”

Tywin did not know why Cersei thought this would bother him. In his opinion, Lady Brienne's devotion to her home only spoke well of her. Indeed, he would rather have preferred it if his niece's estimate of Lady Brienne's character was true. Such ruthlessness and cunning could always come into use.

“Uncle,” Cersei snapped, “Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” Tywin said bluntly, “Though I know not why. You have said nothing yet of value, and seem unlikely to do so. You rarely do,”

A line formed between Cersei's eyebrows, her lips curling in contempt. “Your son is of no value to you then? You care little that a grasping seductress is using your son in a bid to use his fortune to buy her estate back?”

“If this were the case, I would care a great deal,” Tywin replied, “As you would know best of all, Cersei,”

Cersei drew herself up and tilted her chin imperiously, no doubt believing herself to be look very grand and dignified.

“I have always been loyal to my family, and grateful for what you have done for me. You need not address me in such a manner,”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, “Do I not?”

Cersei visibly shrank. Lord Westerlands' glare would have been enough to send any other woman scurrying off like a mouse, but Cersei was a lioness. She threw off her fright and replaced it with a righteous indignation. Steeling herself, she arched her back, gripped her fists and nearly stamped her foot.

“How can you doubt my duty to you? I married Robert, didn't I? I married that boor and made your alliance with the Stormlands, out of loyalty to _you._ And it is only my love for Jaime that has me coming to you now,”

“Oh yes, I know all about your love for Jaime,” Tywin sneered.

Cersei, seeing her current temperament was doing herself no favours, adopted a more demure tone. She ducked her head and peered up at him through her eyelashes. “I love him purely as a cousin and as a girl who was raised as his sister. His well-being has always been my first concern,”

Tywin scoffed. “Oh I'm sure it is,”

He supposed that Cersei was concerned for Jaime's well-being just as she had been when she was willing to risk Jaime being disinherited of Casterly Rock to become his wife. Or else when she had assured Jaime fervently of her attraction whilst conferring with Tywin on the amount of her dowry, using the threat of elopement to push for a higher sum.

Cersei bristled under Tywin's scorn. She longed to throw her wine in his wretched face. Alas, is was only Robert's fear of Tywin that kept him from installing his mistress in Storm's End, she could not afford losing his favour.

“I simply wish to bring Jaime the same happiness I found in my marriage,”

Tywin cast a glance towards Robert, who was whispering into a blushing débutante's ear. He was near collapse, despite it being early in the evening. His face was red and he was leaning against the wall for support. The debutante moved away and Robert went to follow. He found himself stumbling and grasping desperately at the wall once more and knocked down two paintings and a priceless Volantene glass mirror.

He turned back to Cersei.

“I am going to make Lady Brienne's acquaintance,” he said curtly, brushing past Cersei and heading straight for the lady.

Brienne could feel her face turn white at the sight of Lord Westerlands approaching. She knew it was him instantly. He looked so like Jaime. Jaime gave a tiny gulp and placed a light hand on her arm. How could a man appear so like Jaime and yet so different? There was no way this man's eyes would glitter in amusement or his mouth twitch up in mirth. His words could never hold the same warmth and his touch could never bring the comfort.

Lord Westerlands approached her with the same purpose and intention as that of a shark that had detected blood. His green eyes held the same look of lifelessness.

Whereas Jaime, who moved with a feline grace, boomed with a roaring laughter and fought with a proud valour, embodied the Lannister Lion, Lord Westerlands could only be equated with a predator of the deep blue. Regardless of his devotion to his House.

Still, Brienne steeled herself and smiled pleasantly as she dipped a polite curtsey, praying that she did not wobble as she rose. Lord Westerlands bowed with a straight back that seemed to be made of wood.

“Lady Brienne,” he said courteously, “Would you care to join me outside momentarily and get some air?”

“It would be a pleasure, my lord,” Brienne replied, taking his offered arm, hoping the slight tremble in her hand did not show.

They made to leave before Lord Westerlands halted and stared pointedly at his son, who had made to follow.

“Not you Jaime,” he said in a hard voice.

Jaime offered Brienne a tight nod. Brienne could feel Jaime's eyes follow her out the room. For all that she longed to have him beside her as she faced his father, she knew it was right she that she fought this battle alone. Evenfall Hall was her home. The people on her land were her people. Jaime had already done so much for her. He convinced Connington to hire the steward she chose, and to allow the old and infirm tenants to keep their homes. She must play her part, even if that part involved tackling Lord Westerlands by herself, with no support. If she were to end up clinging to the back of Jaime's coattails, she would only have ended up securing his disdain.

Despite the crush, Lord Westerlands did not appear to be in need of air. His hand was cool beneath her own. For all that it was oppressively warm inside, that it did not affect Lord Westerlands brought Brienne little surprise. From both his demeanour and Jaime's descriptions, he was not the type to be inconvenienced by trifling things such as the heat or weather. He remained whatever temperature was convenient for him.

On exiting the house and entering the garden, Tywin halted and turned to face Brienne. He relinquished her arm and forgo all semblance of etiquette in favour of a businesslike approach.

“You wish to marry my son,” he announced sternly.

It was not a question but still Brienne replied with an affirmative “Yes Sir,”

“Do not bandy about with pretty words or insult my intelligence with fancy phrases and impassioned speeches. Do you love him?” he demanded.

“I do,” Brienne replied promptly.

“And this love you hold for my son, is in part due to the fact that through him you may regain your home,”

“It is,” Brienne said honestly. She saw Lord Westerlands raise an eyebrow at the honesty of her answer, so she hastened to explain, “My duty has always been to my family and to Evenfall Hall. Even though my father prevented me from marrying Ronnet Connington and becoming the Marchioness, it remains my duty still. Jai-Lord Lannisport proved himself to be a true and loyal friend when he made the new Marquess's acquaintance to protect my home. His kindness has been insurmountable and whereas I had feelings for Lord Lannister before, it was his actions following my father's death that secured them,”

“Very well,” Lord Westerlands nodded, “Lady Brienne, you have been honest with me or at least placed a great deal of effort into your lies. For that I shall repay you by being honest in return. I am not looking for a love match for Jaime. I am looking for a healthy, capable woman who may aid in the running of my estates and provide me with heirs. You are young and have proved yourself clearly dedicated to Evenfall Hall. I am inclined to give you my consent,” he held up his hand as Brienne made to rapturously interrupt, her face openly shining with an ecstatic joy that Tywin found reprehensible. He swiftly continued before she had the chance to explode with thanks and gratitude, which he could not have borne, “And look into investing in the purchase of Evenfall Hall. _However,_ in return I must be sure of one thing,”

“Yes?” Brienne asked eagerly.

“I do not care if my son's wife loves him. But I am aware of my son's romantic nature and I know that one more heartbreak would push him into doing something foolish. Lock himself away and declare himself a painter or artist or something equally ludicrous,” Tywin grimaced at the thought, imagining what would have become of Jaime should he have been allowed to wed Cersei only to realise how little she cared for him. He could already see the beard and the half-open billowing shirts. “The future Duke of Westerlands must be focussed on duty, not wasting his time writing about clouds and daffodils. And so , for my son seems convinced of your love for him, you must either remain in love or else do a good job of keeping up the pretence of appearing so,”

“I love Jaime,” Brienne said with an earnestness that Lord Westerlands knew to be rare.

He examined her face. Her eyes were wide and guileless, her manner lacking entirely in sophistication or polish.

“You seem very much in love my son,” Tywin conceded, “And you seem incapable of any great deception. You sppear to lack the wits and cunning required. So you are either not lying, or extremely good at lying. Either one is what I require of my son's wife,”

Lady Brienne shook her head wordlessly as Lord Westerlands led her back into the Drawing Room. She nearly dare not believe her fortune. Lord Westerlands had given his approval for the match. and his support to purchasing Evenfall Hall. She felt numb, as though she was floating on air, but she must have been smiling for Jaime took one look at her face and beamed.

Jaime barged his way through the crowds and drew up before his father. Lord Westerlands clasped Brienne's hands into Jaime's, witnessed by Lady Genna and Lady Stormlands, both of whom were inwardly weeping.

“Jaime,” Tywin announced, “I congratulate you on your choice of bride. I wish you happiness, prosperity and many children,”

“I think you, my lord,” Brienne said, “And I promise to endeavour to be a mistress of Casterly Rock and Evenfall Hall that may bring you much pride and satisfaction,”

 _'And children,'_ Tywin thought, _'Especially children. Lots of them,”_

Although, considering the sickly yet promising way Jaime stared at his betrothed, this seemed unlikely to prove problematic.

 


	17. Out-takes

**Out-take 1: A Picnic out**

Brienne sat primly at the edge of the rug. Sansa was giggling cheerily away as a handsome officer presented her with a plate of little pies. Next to Lady Sansa's youthful prettiness and innocent merriment, Brienne had to appear like a disapproving governess. A grim spectre at the feast...or picnic.

Dear Sansa cast a concerned glance at Brienne, who managed a smile for Sansa's sake and nodded. It was a cheerful parry, but Brienne was in no mood for cheer. She had received a letter from Lord Lannisport that day, much to her surprise. He had not written before. Her surprise only grew as she read it, finding queries as to why she had not yet responded to any of her previous ones. She had innocently asked Lord and Lady Winterfell if it were possible any of her previous letters may have gone astray.

The look on Lord and Lady Winterfell's faces told her exactly what happened to her letters.

Brienne could not stomach the deception and dishonesty, especially from those whom she admired and owed so much. The entire ordeal left her feeling sour, and the laughs of the party aggravated her nerves. The officers saw the look on her face and kindly kept to themselves. She was being left alone and for that she was glad.

Only one member of the party seemed not to get the hint.

Mr Tormund Giantsbane's bearded face had creased into a smile the minute he laid eyes on her. He had repeatedly made efforts to sit close, edging closer and closer whenever Brienne squirmed away. In the end Brienne gave up good manners and and stood abruptly, pointedly moving away. Even so Brienne could see him watching her, stuffing handfuls of cold roast chicken into his beaming mouth. She watched transfixed as the cold meat was rolled around in his open mouth, grease dribbling into his beard.

She shuddered and picked half-heartedly at a pork pie, before putting it back down. She had rather gone off her food.

**Out-take 2: Connington's Comeuppance part 1**

“Lannisport, my good man!” Connington cried upon seeing Jaime enter the club, “So good to see you,”

“And you too,” Lord Lannisport smiled, clasping Connington's hand in his own enthusiastically.

A bit too enthusiastically, in truth. The strength and tightness of Lord Lannisport's hold had Connington wincing. Still he forced a grin on his face as he waited for Lord Lannisport to loosen his grip. He didn't. Lord Lannisport remained smiling. His grin grew, revealing his teeth, and his grip strengthened.

Finally, Connington was forced to detach himself. He discretely nursed his throbbing hand and plastered a smile back on his face.

“Shall we go somewhere private then?” he asked gaily.

“We shall,” Jaime nodded decisively, marching towards one of the private rooms, “The lawyers are waiting with the papers,”

“Excellent,” Connington rubbed his hands, scurrying in Jaime's wake. They entered the private room where their lawyers, Mr Hunt and Mr Marbrand, sat in plush chairs by the fire. They stood and bowed obsequiously and murmur their greetings, before getting down to business. Lord Lannister and Lord Tarth poured over the papers, before signing their names in ink.

Connington straightened up and smiled in satisfaction.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he said, momentarily thinking to offer Jaime his hand, before deciding the better of it.

Jaime smiled tightly. “Well, it isn't exactly _done,”_

“No?” Connington inquired, turning back to the papers in confusion, “What else is-!”

Jaime's fist came swinging round, throwing Connington off his feet. Connington was swept back, bashing his head against the fireplace. He stared up at Jaime in shock that bubbled into anger.

“Why.. you?” he spluttered as blood dribbled down his nose.

“A gift,” Jaime said pleasantly, “From myself, and from my betrothed. I am sure you know her. Lady Brienne Tarth?”

Connington's eyes widened as he watched Jaime nod at Connington's lawyer, and then his own rather worried one, before gathering the deed to Evenfall Hall and striding out the room. Both lawyers hastened to help a trembling Connington to his feet.

“Well then,” Mr Marbrand said to Mr Hunt, “I suppose we shall be meeting again soon,”

Mr Hunt passed Connington a handkerchief, “I'm sure we shall,”

#

**Out-take 3: Lord and Lady Winterfell Speak With Jaime**

“Lord and Lady Winterfell,” Jaime trilled, kissing Lady Winterfell's hand gallantly, “What a delight it is to see you again,”

“I wish I could say the same to you,” Lady Winterfell replied bluntly.

“Really? It is incredibly simple. I say it all the time to people, even the ones I take no pleasure in seeing at all,” Jaime said in mock incredulity.

“This is no time for japes Lannisport,” Lord Winterfell growled, glaring at Jaime with piercing grey eyes, “We are here on a serious matter,”

“Well I should think so,” Jaime said lightly, sitting down and reclining into his chair, “Why else would you barge into a man's home? It's very uncivilised of you Lord Winterfell. I expected more from a fellow gentleman,”

“I'm sorry?” Lord Winterfell scoffed.

“Oh don't be,” Jaime waved his hand, “I had expected too much of a Northerner. You are known to be rather 'rough around the edges', shall we say,”

“Better a 'rough around the edge's North-man than a deceitful, selfish Southerner,” Lord Winterfell shot back.

“Brienne would disagree,” Jaime smirked.

“It is about Brienne that we came,” Lady Winterfell said, “We must talk about her,”

“Must we?” Jaime inquired, “Well, I have no complaints. I delight to talk about my betrothed,”

“About her future,” Lady Winterfell snapped.

“Indeed?” Jaime raised an eyebrow, “Then should not she be present? I would have thought she would like to hear whatever you have to say,”

“Oh she shall hear exactly what I have to say,” Lady Winterfell promised, “But we wish to speak to you first,”

Jaime nodded for her to continue.

“Brienne is a dear, tender hearted girl,” Lady Winterfell said, “She has been extremely lonely since her father's death and naturally in need in of companionship and affection. It is understandable that she has reciprocated your advances with such enthusiasm, perhaps before she had-”

“But not Tormund Giantsbane's,” Jaime interrupted.

“I do not see how he is relevant,” Lady Winterfell said.

“He is relevant if you are trying to tell me that Brienne is vulnerable and liable to accept any offer that comes her way,” Jaime explained, “He is relevant if you are using her vulnerability to convince me to call off the engagement, even though Brienne has already proven herself capable of refusing any man whom she does not love,”

“Her rejection of Mr Giantsbane is simply another indication that Brienne is making foolish decisions,” Lady Winterfell cut back, “He is wealthy, and will give her a home close to her friends. He was the best offer she is likely to have,”

Jaime blinked. “You are aware that I am a Marquess, correct?” he laughed, “And as for wealth...the name 'Lannister' must mean something to you,”

“Yes it does,” Lord Winterfell snarled, “It means loose morals and false promises. But you have the chance to do the honourable thing and release Lady Brienne from her promise,”

“You mean to suggest that I, an dishonourable man who does not keep his promises, should prove himself honourable by _breaking_ a promise?” Jamie said incredulously.

Lord Winterfell opened his mouth to retort, but shut it and sat back in confusion.

“Do not act as though being asked to break your promise is an affront to you. I know all about how you treated poor Lady Stormlands,” Lady Winterfell stood up and thrust a finger into Jaime's face, “How you promised her marriage and ruined her, all for your own entertainment. Now you wish to do the same thing to Brienne. You plan to torment her and see her fall in love with you, just so you can break her heart,”

Jamie's face turned white and his lips thinned. “I broke no promise to Cersei,” he hissed, “I would have given up my lands, my inheritance, my home and my family for her. She was the one who spurned me for Robert! I would have carved out my heart for her and served it on a golden platter if she would have wished it,” Jaime halted, feeling the old pain return. He smiled and relaxed back into his seat, “Do not fear for my using Brienne and taking advantage of her tender heart, fear for Brienne using me and taking advantage of _my_ tender heart,”

Lady Winterfell shook her head, “Brienne will never play havoc with a man's feelings, whatever our nephew Jon may think,”

“Indeed she will not,” Jaime shook his head, a fond smile spreading across his lips, “Which is why I shall never cry her off. She is my fiancé, and I shall marry her. This is regardless of what you say and your opinion of me,” he smirked, “Although naturally your opinion is of _great_ importance to me,”

**Out-take 4: Connington's Comeuppance Part 2 (Crack)**

Lady Brienne was twisting her gloves in her hands, before forcing them to stillness. It would do no good to appear nervous before him. Her mouth was dry and she had to fight against nibbling on her lower lip until the skin was peeled completely away. She stood in his entrance hall. It was a vulgar room, white columns and gold mirrors. His house was crammed with similar ornamentation, vases and statuettes balanced on every available surface.

The outside was equally gaudy, a monstrosity of a house bulging out on the street. It was so hideously ugly that Brienne had ended up stifling down laughter as she gave her name to the butler, easing her nerves somewhat. She was ushered into the entrance hall, quickly so as to keep her from disgracing the steps of the new Lord Tarth's house. Although she was welcomed in, she was allowed no further than the hall and received no invitation to sit down or take some refreshment. She was treated with near incivility, as though Jaime was worried she might.

“Why do you wish to speak with the man at all?” Jaime asked, “I have already dealt with the scoundrel. Our business with him is done,”

“No it is not,” Brienne said simply, and called for the carriage to take her to Connington's town house.

And so here she stood, waiting for the same man who had hung over her life like a spectre. This would have been her home, had her father not rescued her. She would have married him and there would have been no Jaime to escape to. It would be him she would be returning to every evening, not Jaime. His glares and mouth sneering in disgust, instead of Jaime's twinkling emeralds and crooked smile.

Connington was dressed foppishly, with immense style and care. Nevertheless, no amount of lace and satin and velvet could cover the rings under his eyes. The lasts gifts of a fruitful night out, no doubt. Nor the bruises littering his face, gifts from Jaime.

“Lady Lannisport,” he said, tilting his head sharply.

“Lord Tarth,” Brienne swept a respectful curtsey, her naming Connington with her father's title leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

“I agreed to meet with you because I was assured that whatever it is what you had to say would be said quickly. So speak your piece and leave,”

Brienne nodded. “I will do that,” she assured him.

“Very well then,” Lord Connington said, “What do you have to say?”

Brienne looked at him. His sneering face, the rings under his eyes and the bruises on his faces. The hours and hours he spent on dressing, with nothing else to fill his days now that Lord Westerlands had yet to make any overtures. The long nights out, drinking and whoring away, before coming back to this big empty house. She looked at him and remembered how desperately she yearned for his good opinion, how greatly his contempt of her hurt. She looked at him, and smiled.

“Yes, this is what I have to say,” Brienne squared her shoulders and straightened her back, “You're a insignificant little man who is worth only as much as he is able to save from his gambling debts, and” here she smiled, “You can go fuck yourself, because no woman would ever do it for you without payment,” she curtseyed once more and turned her back, “Goodbye _Mr_ Connington,”

 


End file.
